


The Soaring Six & the Queen of Hearts

by deavors



Series: The Adventures of the Soaring Six [1]
Category: Incredibles (Pixar Movies)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2018-11-08
Packaged: 2019-06-21 11:21:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 32
Words: 128,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15556590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deavors/pseuds/deavors
Summary: Now that super activity is legal once again, the wannabe supers have dubbed themselves the Soaring Six, and with the National Supers Agency and Winston Deavor backing them, this newly-minted team is ready to take on their first missions on the streets of New Urbem. But though it's easy enough to tackle small-time thieves and crooks, the wannabes soon face a bigger challenge that will test their mettle to the limit. When two powerful and mysterious supervillains with unknown motives begin attacking innocent civilians at random, the Soaring Six must band together to stop the perplexing threat, at any cost.





	1. Foundations: 16 Years Ago

"A developing story out of downtown Metroville tonight. Police are investigating after a double shooting took place in a grocery store parking lot at the intersection of Oak and Michaels.

"First responders were called to the area at 8:14 on Saturday evening. A male victim was pronounced dead at the scene and a female victim is now in hospital. Police say she is expected to survive with life-altering injuries.

"No arrests have been made.

"Investigators will not comment on the possibility that this crime was committed by the suspected spree killers who have recently been stalking the Metroville urban area, but a source in the police department says that this avenue is being explored.

"The male victim has been identified as John Bowman, 32, of Metroville."


	2. Dreamer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brief snippets of Voyd's childhood.

When she was a child, Karen had well-learned to dread the gentle buzz in her fingertips that let her know she was about to create a void.

It was uncontrollable, for one thing. She might be sitting in the classroom busily scribbling math problems, and the next thing she knew, her teacher would fall screaming from a hole in the ceiling. And it would be her fault. She’d been the involuntary cause of more than a few broken legs and arms. Just thinking about that, even as an adult years later, caused a wave of guilt to spasm in her stomach. Innocent people she’d hurt by mistake.

For another thing, the other kids… well. They were too scared to bully her, which was a plus, but they were too scared to _talk_ to her, too. She didn’t make many friends. Karen often approached a gaggle of laughing kids in the schoolyard, eagerly trying to share something she’d drawn (Elastigirl, usually) or talk about a show she’d seen on TV (an interview with Elastigirl, usually), but their laughter would die at the sight of her, and they would edge nervously away. She’d be left standing alone.

You see, the government—more specifically, the NSA men who she knew were watching her closely always—wasn’t allowed to erase the memories of children under 12. It was too dangerous for their young brains. And so, when Karen messed up, her teachers might be made to forget, but her peers wouldn’t.

When she was thirteen, she stopped messing up.

In the summer of that year, Karen doggedly made the six-mile trek through city blocks and across highways until she reached an isolated, desolate field on the outskirts of town, someplace where she wouldn’t be bothered. There, the skinny beanpole with ribbons lovingly placed in her hair by her mother tried her best to create a portal on _purpose_ this time.

For weeks, nothing happened. She tried hard to will the blue holes into existence, tried harder than she’d ever tried to do anything before. Nothing. She tried moving her hands in different formations. Zilch. She tried calming her mind, tried getting angry, tried screaming. Nada.

On that first day, when she plunked herself down on the grass in frustration and threw her hands up in the air, that humming in her fingers started up, and she tilted her head to the sky. She’d thrown a portal far above, where it thrummed, open to some unknown blackness, until quietly hissing shut moments later.

She could only do it when she _didn’t_ want to do it. Like, say, in the middle of show and tell. Or when she was nervously introducing herself to the cute new girl. It was a cool power, sure, but it wasn’t exactly a convenient one, and Karen hadn’t found many reasons to love having it.

But after weeks of dogged practice, it finally happened. The week before school was due to start, Karen stood under a stormy sky, throwing her hands around like an idiot, as she’d done every day for a long, long time.

She forced herself to imagine what it would be like if, on the first day of high school—her fresh start, her new beginning—she made a portal appear in front of everyone. Even if the government wiped the teenagers’ memory after, the idea still made Karen’s face burn. And then, to have all those innocent people subjected to getting their memories erased, all because of _her_ … The NSA agents had long since assured her that the process didn’t hurt, but Karen hated it all the same. They deserved to have the full story of their lives safe in their heads, just like she did.

She realized she might be onto something.

With tightly-closed eyes, Karen focused hard on her emotions, purposefully heightening the humiliation and fear of exposing her power before a crowd of ogling students, and just like that, she tapped into something she’d never had access to before. Some extra nerve, a secret muscle that now twitched at her command.

She awkwardly thrust her hand out, and a circle whooshed into existence several feet away, quietly whirring, outer rim crackling with electricity, gaping maw open onto nothing but dark. Gazing at the thing in awe, Karen got the distinct sense that she was _connected_ to it this time. It wasn’t just appearing at random—it was there because she’d willed it there.

But without her bidding, the circle closed with a rush of air.

She stared at the spot where it had been, unable to look away for a few moments. A slow smile spread across her face.

From that day on, when she felt the telltale tingle overtake her fingers, she simply closed them and willed it away and continued with her life. And it _worked_.

She’d gained some semblance of control, and although she still had trouble opening the portals at will, she could now choose _not_ to open them if she didn’t want. She could talk to people normally, not terrified about scaring or hurting them—although some of this fear still lingered, making her anxious and apologetic in all her interactions, as she still half-expected a hole to open up under her friends’ feet and send them falling from the sky.

Karen had trouble using the word “super” for herself, even though she knew that’s what she _was_. The first time in kindergarten that she had accidentally created a hole in the fabric of the universe, a team of black-suited men had arrived and shepherded away all the adults who’d witnessed it, while a huddled herd of terrified children were gently told they’d simply had a collective bad dream. (Since they were kindergartners, they’d believed it. 8-year-olds were trickier to fool.)

And on that day, Karen looked up with big blue eyes at the tall, imposing man in black who knelt down before her and gently explained the situation as a child might understand it.

You’ve seen supers on TV, right?

She nodded, she’d seen them: the mesmerising, flashy-suited, white-teethed, smiling ladies and gentlemen who performed awesome feats of derring-do and kept their city safe.

Well. You’re like that.

Karen blinked. No she wasn’t. She was just Karen.

And this mindset would follow her for years.

But Elastigirl helped. Karen would sit with nose practically pressed to their black-and-white television, static occasionally causing the screen to flicker, necessitating an adjustment of the rabbit ears on top. Nearly unblinking, she’d watch Elastigirl, the hero with the power to stretch. All her interviews. Her exploits. Shaky-cam footage of her daring battles and close shaves.

Karen found herself in awe, wondering if this person had gone through the same things she had. Unable to control her body, had she accidentally stretched in her classroom like Karen had mistakenly created holes?

There were dozens of other heroes, each more colorful and brighter than the last, but Karen found her attention drawn to Elastigirl every time. She didn’t know why; she couldn’t help it. Elastigirl was just the best of them all.

By the time she was seven, she had Elastigirl posters up on her bedroom wall, she wore an Elastigirl-patterned shirt and owned pyjamas of the same nature, she proudly displayed an Elastigirl-symbol button on her backpack strap, and she religiously devoured anything and everything to do with the red-headed heroine. She planned to meet her one day, to just shake her hand. The idea caused a menagerie of winged insects to erupt in her stomach.

When she was seven and a half, heroes were banned. Elastigirl disappeared.

Karen felt untethered, sinking in the ocean. Her mother tried to comfort her, rubbing her back and telling her gently, “That’s just how it is sometimes, sweetie.”

Her mother did understand, after all: she knew what Karen was, she knew exactly what Elastigirl meant to her. And all other heroes, too. Karen had allowed herself to entertain the concept of becoming a hero, of patrolling the streets with a colorful costume and confident smile just like her idol, but these were just fantasies. She simply didn’t think she would ever be good enough—and now, even her wildest hopes were gone, probably forever.

Still, she let herself dream. She kept the posters on her wall, and the stickers on her lunchbox, and the pin on her backpack strap, long after they went out of fashion. She watched and rewatched old superhero interviews and TV specials, and a tiny spark of hope remained alive in the very, very back of her mind. The hope that someday, that hum in her fingers might be put to good use. That someday, she might not have to restrain herself from making those portals. She might throw them around with wild abandon, saving lives and defeating evildoers and—

Nope. Not going to happen.

But still, can’t a girl dream?


	3. Our Intrepid Heroes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Voyd practices with her powers a little; Rick Dicker informs the heroes about a bill that could change their futures; lots of fun exposition and whatnot.

Voyd didn’t have to dream anymore.

She’d improved vastly since her childhood days of practicing in a field, and now, it only took a moment’s concentration to form a portal under her feet, and another in the air. She fell up, and with another instant’s concentration, she’d created yet another two holes underneath her, swallowing her up until she emerged only a foot above the gymnasium’s gleaming, polished wood floor. She landed in a practiced crouch, smiling widely.

It had taken a long, long time to not dread the feeling in her hands, but now she’d accepted it wholeheartedly, even embraced it. Now, that tingle didn’t mean “I’m going to embarrass myself in front of everyone” anymore. Now, it meant “I’m going to save the world.”

She grabbed a basketball from the rack against the wall and dribbled it once; the sound echoed around the gym. Voyd gazed up at the basketball hoop on the wall, thoughtfully stroking her chin. Could she land it? Only one way to find out. (Just kidding. Of course she could.)

Voyd had improved to the point where she could form two portals with one hand. Expertly, she flashed her hand once toward the air in front of her and again toward the hoop, lightning fast. She stepped into the oval hole with its blue outline and emerged in midair just in front of the hoop. Voyd dunked the ball before she even began to fall.

Two portals brought her safely to the ground, and she landed at the same time as the basketball did, bouncing up in front of her. She snatched it from the air and—

Oh. She wondered.

It was probably a bad idea, she thought with a hint of guilt, but she was going to do it anyway.

She glanced up at the white ceiling with its many fans, lights and vents, then looked down at the basketball in her blue-gloved hands. Focusing hard, Voyd tried her best to open a portal _outside_ of the building, visualizing what it would look like when the basketball emerged against the blue sky and thumped against the roof. _That_ would be a useful skill, for sure.

She closed her eyes before forming the two voids and tossing the basketball in the entrance portal’s general direction, wanting its location to be a surprise. For her concentration, she was rewarded with a basketball smack in the face. Instead of opening outside, the portal had opened right next to her.

Groaning and rubbing her sore cheek, she had to laugh at herself a little. That’s pride for you. She wasn’t all that advanced yet, and didn’t know if she ever would be.

She’d been practicing with her portals for around an hour now, and to be honest, there was a point in time when opening a portal _somewhere_ and stepping out _somewhere else_ … just got a little tiny bit boring. When she first began practicing in this gym—only a week before, actually, because that was when this building had first opened and been christened—she’d begun with the goal of strengthening her power, but after a week of practicing nearly every day, she wondered if she would just have to accept that she’d reached her peak. What more was there to learn, anyhow? She had near-perfect control over her voids. What else could she do? Create three at once? Make them open further away? Make bigger voids?

Hmm. She toyed with that last idea. Bigger voids.

Teeth gritted with focus, she reached out and tried her best to create a larger void than she’d ever done before. Not _too_ big, mind—that would run the risk of hurting others in the facility or causing some major damage. Just, say… larger than door-size.

But the circle that opened on the floor in front of her was embarrassingly small, and she deflated a little. For all her concentration, it was perhaps slightly larger than her regular voids, and that was being optimistic.

She closed her fist and so closed the portal, sighing. Well, as long as she could help citizens like she’d been doing already, it was good enough for her. She guessed.

The gymnasium sure helped with practice. Winston Deavor had spared no expense when he’d commissioned this building—the Simon J. Paladino Center, or SJP, as the heroes called it. It was the home base of the Soaring Six—again, that’s what they were calling themselves, although Voyd felt a little dorky when she said the name out loud. It was Screech’s idea. Anyway, Winston had commissioned the building and had it built to completion within a month and a half, and it was custom-made for superheroes.

Dangling from the ceiling by thin, almost invisible wires were thick leather-bound cushions of various heights and sizes, perfect for Voyd to practice her portals with; she had to admit, she’d slightly improved her aim by using those. They could be easily retracted with the press of a button to allow better access. There were also weights and other strength-training accessories for Brick, a hologram system that could project enemies into the air for Screech to practice with, and several custom-designed geometric objects of various densities that Krushauer could crush without fear of causing permanent damage, as they would instantly spring back into shape; these were currently resting in the back corner. These were also excellent conductors of electricity, so they doubled as practice enemies for He-Lectrix. As for Reflux, his abilities were a little too…uh…let’s say _hazardous_ for indoor training. When Reflux wanted to train—which was rarely, probably since he was an octogenarian—he’d head out to the country, where he was less likely to hurt anyone or cause damage to Winston’s multi-million-dollar facility.

Technically, the SJP didn’t _belong_ to Winston, though he’d paid for it and was welcome to drop in whenever he wanted. He’d gifted it to the National Supers Agency, who, in turn, allowed it to be used by the Soaring Six, as Winston had intended it. As well as the gymnasium, there was also a large recreational room, a techy room that none of them had visited so far, a kitchen, and several bedrooms where they could stay if they wanted. But since all of the Six—as far as Voyd knew, anyway; some of them were more forthcoming than others—had regular day jobs and houses of their own, they rarely used the bedrooms.

Voyd had her own apartment, though it was a hole in the wall and she could barely afford it. Sometimes she longed to quit her job, leave her humble apartment behind, move in here at the SJP, and work full-time defending the public. There had been some talk of the government passing a bill that would make superheroes full-time, salaried government employees, and Voyd dreamed vividly of the day when this would become a reality.

She didn’t want to work at Pawz-R-Us forever; she loved animals, but that wasn’t what she _wanted_ , wasn’t the dream that lived deep in her bones and had taken root in her heart since she was a little girl. She wanted to help people. Not as a civilian, either. She wanted to help _with her powers_ , put them to some good use, make up for all the broken bones and sore backsides and unfortunate property damage she’d inadvertently caused as a kid.

Lost deep in thought about what her life would be like if she was a full-time hero, Voyd didn’t notice the gymnasium door creaking open until a deep, slow voice cut through. “Penny for your thoughts?”

She started and turned quickly, but it was only Rick Dicker, suit-clad as always and looking tired.

“Oh, Rick! Hi! You scared me a little.”

He gestured toward the door with a backwards thumb. “Meeting in the common area. Need to brief you guys on some news.” With that, he turned and left, succinct as always.

Rick and the NSA were _sort of_ in charge of the heroes, but not really… Well, it was a complicated situation. If superheroes chose not to register with the NSA, then they were technically out of the government’s jurisdiction, and the NSA could only intervene if they did something illegal. But if a superhero did register themselves—which the Soaring Six had done—then the NSA got involved in their business. They observed the heroes, provided them with information, sometimes ordered them around, interviewed them “for posterity,” and so forth. Voyd was still waiting eagerly for the day when Rick would assign the team a real mission, but there weren’t too many supervillains active at the moment, and it might be a long wait.

Rick wasn’t exactly the friendliest guy; he was abrupt, constantly-beleaguered, and a little cold, but Voyd could sense a softie lurking under the hard shell. She also wondered if maybe, just maybe, Rick was the same agent who’d told her in her childhood that she was a super. She couldn’t quite recall that agent’s face; it was a murky blur, her distant memories tainted as though she was seeing them from underwater. But she didn’t think it was impossible.

Voyd followed him out of the gymnasium and down the cool, white-walled hallway until they reached the common room.

The SJP was Winston’s grandest gift to the heroes, and holy cow, what a gift it was. The common room was beyond gorgeous. The building had been constructed atop a large hill overlooking the city, and the eastern wall of the common area was entirely glass, looking out with a magnificent view over the streets and skyscrapers of New Urbem on a Saturday evening. But enemies who thought the glass was an easy target would be sorely disappointed; the material was Evelyn Deavor’s design, all but unbreakable. Voyd felt a little weird knowing that the glass in their living room had been designed by a villain who hated their guts, but then, she had to admit that almost every piece of advanced technology in the SJP had probably been conceived of by Evelyn. Winston didn’t seem to have a problem with using his sister’s designs.

The floor was a tasteful red carpet, the walls a stark white, the room peppered with modern, stylish furniture; a TV was mounted on the northern wall, far sleeker and bigger than Voyd’s childhood clunker. Her friends were all there, all wearing their super-suits and masks. He-Lectrix and Screech were conversing on a couch, Brick was seated in a plush green armchair, Krushauer was gazing out the window, and Reflux was sitting on a loveseat by himself, as usual. Voyd felt a little bad for him; she suspected he might feel a little isolated, since everyone else on the team was at _least_ 40 years his junior. She went over and plopped down next to him, smiling. The older super offered a hesitant smile in return.

Before she could say so much as a “How ya doing,” Rick Dicker, who was standing at the head of the room by the television, cleared his throat. “I just wanted to brief you all on the potential bill to give superheroes the status of government employees,” he said in his slow, throaty voice. “I’m sure you’re all eager to hear about how that’s going.”

“It should have happened the moment as they legalized us,” came Krushauer’s deep, heavily-accented voice, commenting from the back corner.

“Yes! It’s disgraceful,” Reflux spoke up, scowling. “We can’t be expected to support ourselves with our regular careers and go out fighting crime at night. It would exhaust the best of us.”

“How would you know?” Krushauer asked, calmly regarding the older super. “You’re retired, no?”

“That’s not the point!” Reflux sputtered.

Rick interrupted. “You can argue over this later, fellas. I’m here to tell you that the bill has been introduced at Congress and it’s entirely possible it will pass within the month.”

Voyd gasped in excitement, and she saw He-Lectrix and Brick lean forward with wide eyes. Screech cocked his head, owl-like as always, and spoke up. “Pardon me, but does this mean we will be given salaries for our work?”

“If the bill passes, of course,” replied Rick. “Of course, if you want to be paid for your hero work, you could always take up Deavor’s offer.”

In a magical moment, all six of them shook their heads in unison. Voyd spoke for the group. “It wouldn’t be right. He’s already given us so much—I wouldn’t feel okay about taking more.”

Winston had offered to give the heroes an hourly rate, as he felt it was wrong that they weren’t being paid already, but all the Soaring Six had agreed not to take the payment—even Krushauer, though reluctantly. If Winston gave them any more gifts, he’d probably be bankrupted. Well, not really—DevTech was a multi-billion company, and Winston could probably keep giving until his generous heart gave out. But Voyd still wouldn’t feel right about it.

No, if they accepted any payment, it would be from the United States government as full-fledged employees.

Rick shrugged. “Your choice. I just thought I would let you know.”

He-Lectrix raised a hand. “What do you think are the chances of this bill actually being enacted into law?”

Rick took a moment to think about it, and seemed reluctant to answer. “If I’m being perfectly honest, not that promising. At the very best, fifty-fifty. The bill has its opponents.”

“As does everything involving giving heroes a fair chance,” muttered Screech, sounding as bitter as Voyd had ever heard him. She was optimistic and cheerful by nature, but honestly, she had to agree. Despite their legalization, sometimes, it still felt like the public hated them. At the very least, there were some outspoken politicians who couldn’t wait for supers to be forced back in the closet and have the door tightly shut and double-locked behind them. The one that most readily came to mind was Michael Maple, a senator. He was constantly on TV talking about how heroes were an undue expense—and, worse, a threat—to the average joe. Voyd had grown tired of seeing his face and hearing his name, but it never ended.

“If the bill is accepted,” Rick continued, “the NSA will be a changed organization. Rather than just an observational agency, we’ll be your employer. Be warned, our monitoring of you will likely become more stringent. As will our expectations of your behavior.”

His last words were a mild warning, and Voyd heard it loud and clear.

“As if your expectations weren’t stringent enough already,” Krushauer muttered.

Rick glanced at the bulky super, not looking impressed. “Right now, our expectations of you _aren’t_ all that high. Take down criminals with minimal damage, don’t hurt the innocent; otherwise, do as you like. But if you’re employed by the United States government, rest assured, there will be more accountability measures in place than you can dream of. You’ll be monitored and controlled far more closely than you’re used to, there will be tight rules and laws regulating your every move, and any slip-ups will be dealt with more harshly than in the past. The higher-ups don’t want to look like fools, and if they decide to associate themselves with supers so closely, they _will_ be keeping an iron grasp on you. You can be sure of that.”

Voyd gulped, wide-eyed. She didn’t particularly like the sound of that. But maybe it wouldn’t be as bad as it sounded—and the chance to dedicate her life to hero work was too good to pass up, regardless of other factors.

Krushauer looked back down at the city, surveying its skyline. “The government had better hope it doesn’t drive us away.”

Rick let out a long sigh and leaned down to pick up his briefcase. “Well, that about wraps it up. I don’t have any more announcements. I’ve got to fly up to Phoenix to meet with a super organization there, so I’ll see you all in a few days.” With that, he shambled off through the nearby doors.

Voyd sometimes forgot that as head of the NSA, Rick had to handle all the superheroes in the country, not just the Soaring Six. When she remembered, she felt a little sorry for him. Must be a boatload of work. Small wonder he looked so tired all the time.

As soon as Rick was gone from the room, Krushauer spoke up. “The future he describes isn’t for me,” he said without looking at his friends. “The second it becomes a reality, I’ll be gone. I don’t want Uncle Sam breathing down my neck.”

“But think about it!” Voyd exclaimed. “The chance to devote our whole lives to hero work, to helping others, to using our powers for good—isn’t that worth the exchange?”

Krushauer scoffed. “Not for me. I prefer independence.”

“We’re not all that independent,” He-Lectrix pointed out. “The NSA watches us already. Surely being employed by the government wouldn’t be that big of a change…”

“And imagine being paid for our work!” interjected Screech. “Being compensated as we deserve—what a delightful idea!”

Brick spoke up. “I think it’s only pipe dream. The government already pays for damages we cause,” she pointed out in her quiet, neutral tone, speaking quite slowly and enunciating carefully through her thick accent. “I don’t think they would like paying us to _make_  damages.”

“That’s the thing! Human lives are worth more than a few wrecked cars and ruined buildings,” argued Voyd, swiveling to face her colleague. “And if we can save lives, who cares about damages? I don’t even know why this is a question.”

“You saw what happened to the Incredibles,” Krushauer interjected. “You know why it’s a question.”

Voyd started to speak again, but stopped herself. She did know. There were many higher-ups who preferred a few civilian casualties and stolen bank notes (which insurance would cover) to superheroes swooping in and potentially capturing a villain whilst causing even more damage (which insurance would _not_ cover).

Voyd looked down at the ground and wrapped her arms around herself, losing a bit of her confidence as she remembered—as she often did—that 50% of the nation wanted her gone. She murmured, “Yeah, I know, but… something I wonder why everyone doesn’t want supers around. Not just half of the country— _everyone_. Even the insurance people; they’re humans too. We save lives. Buildings can be replaced. People can’t.”

There was momentary quiet in the room. Krushauer glanced over at Voyd from his spot by the window. “It’s about money. You’ve got a good heart, but you just don’t get it.”

Anger surged in her; she didn’t like it when people were so cynical. “You’re right,” she said with indignation. “I don’t get it. And I never will.”

He-Lectrix cut through the awkwardness by clearing his throat. “Dicker’s gone, guys. We don’t need to fight.”

“Indeed,” said Screech, blinking his huge eyes. “This is no time for a quarrel. Just think—in only a few hours, we’ll be out combating crime together!”

Voyd tried to let go of her fear and annoyance. Screech wasn’t wrong: they were a team, and fighting was the last thing they should have on their minds. “You’re right,” she admitted. “I’m sorry, Krushauer. Agree to disagree?”

Krushauer grunted. She took that as a yes.


	4. Night Owls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The supers patrol the streets, run into an old acquaintance, and stop a robbery.

At nightfall, the heroes come out.

Well, truthfully, there were many heroes who preferred to patrol the streets during the day. But there were several reasons why the Soaring Six had agreed to head out primarily at night.

One: Screech. His owl’s eyes could see more effectively in the dark, to the point where he could almost be considered visually-impaired in the daytime.

Two: their day jobs. Though today was a Saturday, on weekdays, each member of the Soaring Six—at least, as far as Voyd knew; some of them were more forthcoming about their personal lives than others—had careers and bills to pay during the day.

Three: it was statistically proven that more crime took place at night, so that’s where the Six chose to focus their energies.   

Four: they were just starting out, and they hadn’t yet fully learned that fighting crime all night leaves you absolutely exhausted.

For her part, Voyd was still optimistic that she could handle working a full-time job as a dog groomer at the dingy pet store Pawz-R-Us while also working the equivalent of a full-time job as a nighttime vigilante.  She could manage it. She was sure of it. If Elastigirl had done it back in the glory days—while leaving a trail of broken hearts in her wake to boot—then Voyd could certainly survive on four hours of sleep.

Well, this was probably not the best comparison. Elastigirl was, as Screech was so fond of saying, the gold standard for supers. Just because _she_ could juggle civilian life and heroics with ease didn’t mean that Voyd wouldn’t fall apart after a few months of this.

But it had been a few weeks that they’d gone out each night doing hero work, and Voyd didn’t _think_ she was going to fall apart. The thrill was still too great, the rush too intense, the joy too overwhelming for her to even consider giving up hero work. So far, they hadn’t stopped any big-time criminals—just a few muggers, con artists and thieves—but the work was the most fulfilling she’d done in her whole life. She felt at home in her costume, walking the streets in the role of protector and guardian. It was what she was meant to be—always had been.

Tonight, the Soaring Six had split up into three pairs: Screech and Krushauer were together in the entertainment district of New Urbem; Brick and Reflux were prowling the streets of the financial district; and He-Lectrix and Voyd were in Greenwood Hills, a poorer neighborhood. Each of them had a small, square police scanner attached to their belts. If a crime occurred anywhere in the city and needed to be stopped in its tracks, they’d probably get there before the police would. That was their job.

Right now, Voyd was leaning against the brick wall of a dim alley, tapping her booted foot with eager impatience. She was torn between wanting people to be safe and longing for somebody to commit a crime so she could stop it. That’s the hero balance.  

He-Lectrix was slowly pacing about, occasionally slapping the side of the police scanner he held in his hand, which was emitting grating static and not much else. He finally looked over at Voyd, gesturing to it. “No dice.”

“We can use mine. I think it’s working just fine. What’s wrong with yours?”

“No clue. Sometimes I think the NSA gives us bad technology on purpose.”

“Come on, they wouldn’t do that,” she protested weakly. But internally, she couldn’t help but agree. Whatever technology Winston provided them was state-of-the-art (unbreakable glass, suit cams, training tools); whatever technology the NSA provided them was junk (police scanners that didn’t work half the time, faulty headsets, weaponry that was in more danger of malfunctioning than of actually stopping criminals). They’d only been working as full-fledged supers for a few weeks, and they’d already learned that the NSA was poorer than a church mouse. Maybe that would change in the coming months as the legalization of supers sunk in. Or, at least, Voyd hoped so.

The small box at Voyd’s waist crackled into life, brief words interspersed with irritating white noise. Voyd frowned at He-Lectrix. “Mine’s malfunctioning too. Can you make any of that out?”

They both listened intently to the tinny words emitting from the police scanner. When the voice died away, they looked at each other. “Did you hear ‘suspicious male’?” Voyd asked.

“Yeah. And I think I heard an address. Fifty Roger Street?”

“That’s really close to here, isn’t it?” Voyd’s face lit up with an excited smile; she’d never been so amped about the concept of a suspicious male prowling a neighborhood. “Come on, let’s check it out.”

Winston had supplied them with three high-tech motorcycles not unlike the one Elastigirl had briefly used a few months back. These ones were sleek, black-and-white marvels of engineering. Again, designed by Evelyn, which made Voyd slightly uncomfortable, but she had to get used to the idea. And the bikes were pretty darn awesome, three smooth specimens of purring machinery that went from zero to a hundred within seconds as required.

Voyd didn’t have her license, so He-Lectrix drove the cycle down the nighttime streets with Voyd riding on the back. New Urbem wasn’t exactly bustling on this busy Saturday: it was a little rainy, and the streets were less crowded than usual, with citizens probably preferring to stay indoors. Those who _were_ outdoors were draped in raincoats and shrouded by umbrellas. But Voyd could still see citizens’ faces shift from boredom to awe as they watched her and He-Lectrix pass on bike cycle.

As they buzzed past, Voyd watched almost in slow motion as a little girl broke away from her mother to scream in delight and wave at the passing supers. Voyd lifted a hand to wave back, a wide, genuine grin splitting her face, and enthusiastically yelled “Hi!” as they rushed past. She would never, ever get sick of that, not as long as she lived.

“Having fun?” He-Lectrix asked her from the front, turning his head slightly so she could see he was smiling in amusement.

Her mind went back to her childhood, when she’d felt isolated and afraid because of her power. Compare that to today, when people were happy to see her _because_ she had a power. “Holy cow, yes,” she breathed in response, unsure if he could even hear her. 

Voyd didn’t care how crappy it would be when the government employed them. She would never give this up. The people’s approval was worth any punishment.

“It’s different, isn’t it?” her colleague called over the roar of the motor and the wind. “Having them love you for what you are?”

“Really, really different,” she called back, smiling.

Despite the fact that they’d gone out to fight crime several times in the past weeks—and had stopped a bunch of criminals, including but not limited to a mugger, two vandals, a bank robber and even a pickpocket (but no big-time villains yet)—Voyd still felt like a little kid trying on their mother’s too-big clothes. Going out and fighting crime did send energy spiraling through her veins and thrill her half to death, but it just didn’t feel _real_ yet—she felt sort of like she was playacting at being a full-fledged hero. But maybe if they managed to catch a real live supervillain tonight, maybe if they battled against someone who gave them a real fight for once, that would change.

When they cruised to a stop outside 50 Roger Street—a candy store, one of a row of brick-walled shops with apartments above—Voyd immediately noticed something was wrong. At the very top of the building, on the roof—had she seen movement? Someone darting away, quicker than thought?

They dismounted the cycle in unison and He-Lectrix pressed a button on the dashboard that rendered it invisible to everyone but the one who held the key, who was him. It seemed like magic to Voyd, but it was just yet another product of the incredible minds at DevTech. The key didn’t even turn the bike on—it was shaped like a key, but there was no ignition for it. Instead, there was a button to press on the dash that turned the bike on, and if you didn’t have the key on your person, nothing happened. Similarly, the key allowed you to see the bike when no one else could, because it somehow connected to the synapses of your brain via wireless waves or—or something. Voyd didn’t exactly know the sciency bits. She’d nearly failed chemistry twice in high school. It was her worst subject. (Other than that, she was a straight-A student. Science just didn’t agree with her.)

The bike disappeared from her view, and she glanced up at the roof again, squinting suspiciously in the dying sunlight. She didn’t see the movement again, but her gut told her that there was something wrong on that rooftop.

“I think I saw something up there,” she told her partner. “Wanna check it out?”

“I can’t think of a better place to start.”

She flicked her hand and created a portal nearby, and another on the roof near the edge. “After you!”

He-Lectrix stepped into the void, and she saw him emerge on the roof, as easily as if he’d simply gone in one door and out the other. Which, technically, he had done. She did the same, and found herself on the rooftop, a high vantage point over the rest of Roger Street. Voyd closed the portals and looked around, scanning for any signs of suspicious activity. The roof was fairly pedestrian, just a concrete floor with no signs that anyone had been present, and a roof access door nearby. The surrounding rooftops didn’t look suspicious, either.

“See anything?”

“Nope,” He-Lectrix replied, walking a short distance away and stopping with hands on hips. “Nothing. Want to head back down?”

“Sure—”

Voyd stopped abruptly, certain she’d seen the movement again. It was from behind the brick roof access entryway; something dressed in black had darted there. She was sure of it. Making a _ssshhhh_ motion to her partner, she crept towards the door, trying to stay silent. She could easily be over there in a second with her portals, but they tended to make a whooshing noise, which would alert whomever or whatever was lurking there.

He-Lectrix followed her lead, and as stealthily as they could, they headed towards the door, closer, closer…

A pair of blue goggles, a silver grate over the mouth, a black-hooded head… it peeked out from behind the bricks.

Voyd stumbled backward, terror jolting her every nerve. That looked like—no, it couldn’t be…

“Screenslaver?” she cried in confusion.

Dropping into a defensive stance, He-Lectrix sent a blast of electricity toward the head. It darted back out of sight, the blue lightning bouncing off the bricks. Without even thinking, Voyd created a portal for herself and another by the door, emerging so that she could see exactly what lurked behind there. She was prepared to fight, although she couldn’t think of why on Earth the Screenslaver would be out and about. Defeat him now, ask questions later. Or was it _her_? Was it Evelyn, escaped from prison and wearing the suit? No time for questions.

She pulled a fist back, ready to strike whatever she found there, but instead she stopped in her tracks, struck still by confusion. Huddling against the bricks, mask pulled half-off, was not Evelyn, or anybody that looked like a threat. He cowered in the shadows, staring up at her with terror. It was just a skinny blonde kid, and she recognized him immediately, but couldn’t quite place him.

Then it hit her. The pizza guy?

“Please don’t hurt me,” he trembled.

“It’s you,” she said, dumbfounded, her fist falling to her side. “The guy that Evelyn hypnotized?”

“My name is Mikey,” he told her, backing up a little further against the wall. “I’m not here to attack you or anything. Please tell your friend to not do _that_ again.”

He-Lectrix had joined her by now, and stood at her side, looking down at the skinny figure with befuddlement. “What are you doing here?” he and Voyd asked, very nearly in unison, although He-Lectrix added a “the hell” somewhere in there.

“I just wanted to maybe fight some crime,” said the kid, sounding a little defensive now. “I thought, well, I’ve got this mask and this cool outfit… why don’t I do some good with it?”

“But _why_ do you have that mask?” Voyd asked in confusion. “Wouldn’t the police have taken it away when they arrested you?”

Probably realizing they didn’t intend to attack him, Mikey rose to his feet and dusted himself off, though he still looked a little suspicious and fearful.

“The goggles didn’t work after I got captured—I guess the lady had a failsafe that caused them to stop functioning. The cops let me have the whole suit when they realized I was innocent. Guess they didn’t think there was any danger, since the goggles didn’t do anything anymore. But I’m good with mechanics. I got ’em working again. And I figured, why not go out and make up for everything I did when I was under her spell?” He gestured with his arms in a look-at-me kind of way. “Voila. The Screen _saver_. Kind of clever, huh?”

Voyd and He-Lectrix stared at him. He-Lectrix said slowly, “So… you’re a _hero_ now?”

“Yeah!” He pulled the mask back down over his face, complete with goggles, and pressed a button on the side. He-Lectrix and Voyd instinctively averted their gazes when the blue light began to glow from his eyes.

“Calm down, I’m not doing it yet. But if any criminals come along, I can just hypnotize them and tell them to go away. And they’ll just say ‘Yes!’ No damage, no injures, no fighting. Just smooth sailing.” He pulled the mask back up, exposing his grin.

He-Lectrix and Voyd were not grinning. Voyd asked hesitantly, “But are you even sure that the goggles work? I mean, have you tested them?”

“No, but—look, they light up, I’m sure they work. Why wouldn’t they?”

He-Lectrix said sternly, “Look, you need to go home.”

Mikey’s smile melted away. “Why? Because I don’t have powers?”

“That’s exactly why. For God’s sake, you’re wearing jeans and a turtleneck. You’re going to get yourself _killed_. Or worse, you’re going to endanger civilians.”

Voyd was inclined to be a little kinder, but she still didn’t think this was a good idea by any means. “Mikey,” she said gently, reaching out and putting a gloved hand on his shoulder, “it’s not that we don’t want your help, but…”

She trailed off, unsure what else to say.

Mikey pushed her hand off, annoyed. “Don’t patronize me. I’m just as capable of helping people as you are.”

He-Lectrix gave him a pointed look. “Like you just helped yourself against us? Cowering against the wall like that? You’re not equipped for this. Go home.”

“We know you mean well,” Voyd interrupted, “really, we do, but your clothes just aren’t able to protect you like our suits are, and you’ve got no training in using your goggles or anything—you don’t even know exactly how they _work_. You’re just going to get hurt.” She hesitated; she felt like a hypocrite, talking to Mikey like she was a better hero than him, when in reality, she didn’t feel that way at all. “Maybe we can talk to Rick about getting you involved in hero work somehow, if you really want to help.”

He-Lectrix muttered, “I’m not so sure that’s such a good idea…”

Mikey interjected, a determined line etched between his brows. “I get where you’re coming from, but it’s _my_ choice. My life. I’ll be a hero if I want to be.” He pulled the mask back down once again, rendering him impassive. “I’m going to make up for what I did. You can work with me or we can stay out of each other’s way.”

“But Mikey,” Voyd pleaded, “that wasn’t _you_. What happened wasn’t your fault. You shouldn’t feel like you have to make up for it now—”

The pizza boy shook his head. “Thanks but no thanks. I don’t need a speech. I’m going now. Bye.” He turned and began to sprint away, jumping to another rooftop, becoming a disappearing speck in the dying light.

He-Lectrix shook his head, lips tightly pursed. “This kid is going to get himself killed. We should stop him.”

Voyd watched the skinny figure get smaller, conflicted. “But if he really does want to help…”

“Think about it. He almost crapped himself when he saw us. When he faces a criminal with a gun, how’s he going to respond? Let alone a real scary-looking supervillain? He doesn’t stand a chance. We’d better take that mask away while we can.”

With a disappointed sigh, she relented. She really did feel like anyone who wanted to help should be given a chance, even if they didn’t have powers, but she couldn’t deny He-Lectrix’s argument that Mikey was headed for danger. “Okay, but don’t hurt his feelings any more than we already have. Please.”

He smiled slightly. “I’ll do my best.”

Voyd opened two portals: one here, one next to the rapidly-vanishing man. She and He-Lectrix quickly stepped through onto a distant roof, and He-Lectrix stopped Mikey in his tracks with a fist curled in the fabric of his black shirt. The kid struggled to break free, glowering. “I said leave me alone!”

At that very moment, they all heard the distinctive sound of breaking glass.

In unison, their three heads swiveled toward the direction where the sound had emanated from. Voyd couldn’t see anything amiss on the street—at least, not with any of the shops she was able to see from her vantage point—but she was sure she’d just heard the first throes of a break-in. He-Lectrix seemed to agree, as he released the thrashing Mikey and walked over to the edge of the roof, peering down for signs of trouble. He got down on his hands and knees so he could see the shop directly underneath them, and…

“It’s a closed jewelry store. Someone’s robbing it,” he revealed as he got back to his feet.

Voyd’s gut tensed with that odd mix of excitement and trepidation that comes part and parcel with hero work. “We’d better go stop it. Think we should call for backup?”

“Don’t think so. They’re small-time criminals. I think we can handle them ourselves. Want to take us down there?”

With a flick of her two wrists, Voyd created a portal on the roof and another on the ground outside the store. She turned to Mikey, apologetic, about to offer him a last olive branch. “We can talk later if you w—”

Without any warning whatsoever, Mikey dove for the portal, pushing past Voyd, who gasped as she stumbled aside. And he was gone.

Voyd looked to He-Lectrix, stunned, who looked back at her grimly. “Told you. Thinks he’s a hero.”

“We’ve got to stop him before he gets hurt!” she cried, and without any further hesitation, she jumped through the portal herself, landing on the sidewalk below. He-Lectrix was right behind her; she heard his own boots thump on the pavement, and she closed the portals with a clench of her fists.

The jewelry store’s front door was protected by bars, but in a bizarre and unfortunate choice of engineering, the windows were not, and one of them had been smashed. Inside, it was dark. Voyd could barely see the retreating form of Mikey inside; she couldn’t see the robbers at all.

She cast a quick look around the city streets; nearly abandoned, with two civilians—a young couple—standing across the street, staring at the break-in with confusion.

“Please stay clear, ma’am, sir,” she yelled at them before she and He-Lectrix leapt over the display cases in the window to make their way inside.

The jewelry store was very dim, the dusky forms of jewels in display cases barely sparkling in the near-complete lack of light. Squinting as her eyes adjusted, Voyd could barely make out the form of Mikey standing against the cashier’s desk, mask on and eyes glowing, and two ski-masked robbers pointing their guns at him. He didn’t appear to be doing any hypnotizing.

Mikey sounded desperate. “You will do what I say. _You will do what I say_.”

“Nice try, kid,” the taller of the robbers sneered. “Take that stupid mask off and get out of here before I blow your brains out.”

With a sinking heart, Voyd realized Mikey must have simply restored the blue lights on the goggles, not their ability to hypnotize as he’d thought. He really _was_ going to get himself killed.

Voyd reached down to her hip and pressed a button on her police scanner, which doubled as a high-watt flashlight. The room was flooded with a white beam, and the blinking robbers turned their faces toward the source of the light in confusion.

“Put your guns down,” Voyd intoned, trying her best to sound like a firm threat.

One of the robbers, the shorter one, pointed his gun straight at Voyd; her heart jumped in fear. The other kept his weapon trained on Mikey.

The taller one reached over with a hand and nudged his partner, hissing something so quietly that Voyd couldn’t hear. Oh, no—they were getting ideas.

“I said drop them!” she cried louder, taking a step forward and putting on a brave face even though every nerve in her body was screaming: _Run, gun!_

He-Lectrix raised his hands, ready to send a barrage of lightning towards the criminals, but the taller one rushed over to Mikey and grabbed him by the back of the neck before either super could do anything. He pointed his gun straight at Mikey’s head, the barrel pressed hard against the pizza boy’s temple. “Either of you attacks either of us,” he said, “I blow this moron to kingdom come. Capiche?”

Desperate, Voyd floundered, unsure of what to do. He-Lectrix seemed the same, eyes darting from one criminal to the other to Mikey, who was breathing heavily and seemed on the verge of tears under his mask.

“Now here’s what’s going to happen, supers,” commanded the taller robber. “My friend here is going to strip this shop clean. I am going to stay over here with this hostage. If either of you comes at us, or signals the police, or does anything I don’t like, this hostage is not going to be alive any longer. Do we understand each other?”

Oh, Mikey. Voyd wished she’d just taken his darn mask away when she had the chance. “We understand,” she said helplessly, feeling for the first time as if her powers would do her no good at all.

She and He-Lectrix stood silently by, Voyd feeling like a total chump, while the shorter of the criminals lockpicked each display case, stealing jewels and rings and necklaces to his heart’s content. It seemed they’d already disabled the alarm system, as, when Voyd looked up at the bulky security cameras in each corner, she couldn’t see the telltale blinking light that would indicate they were active. No alarm went off that would alert the police.

The supers, however, had a backup plan.

Voyd noticed He-Lectrix’s hand going very slowly and casually to his opposite wrist. There, she knew, there was a small switch located on a metal bracelet. They all had one under their gloves; this particular piece of gadgetry came courtesy of DevTech. If flicked twice—this, to make sure the first time hadn’t been an accident—the switch would transmit their exact location and call the other Soaring Six to their aid. He just had to press it before the robbers noticed. Neither of them seemed to see, however.

She saw He-Lectrix make a tiny, deft movement. He had flicked the switch. He did it again, and winked without looking at her.

They just had to hope the rest of the Six arrived in time. And even when the Six _did_ get there, it would still be a difficult situation, making sure Mikey didn’t get hurt while also subduing the robbers, especially since there was no way to explain the situation to the other supers before they came crashing in. When it came to making sure this situation didn’t end with bloodshed, a lot would rely on sheer, pure luck. And Voyd was not historically a lucky human being.

When the shorter man had stuffed every bit of jewelry he could find into a pillowcase, he rejoined the taller man, and together—with the taller robber still keeping a firm grip on Mikey—they began to back down the dark hallway behind them. “Remember,” said the taller one harshly, “no sudden moves, no attacks, you let us escape safely, no one gets hurt.”

Voyd nodded, pretending to comply. Her heart was going a million miles a second. Please, let the other Six get here, please…

Just as the robbers had almost disappeared down the hall, Voyd heard noises from behind. She whipped around. It was her friends! Her heart simultaneously melted in relief and jumped in terror. Their arrival could mean the end of this hostage situation—one way or another.

Thank god, the robbers didn’t shoot Mikey. Instead, they began to run, quickly vanishing down the dark hall. Screech and Krushauer had arrived, and were standing defensively near the entrance, while Brick and Reflux weren’t far behind.

He-Lectrix quickly explained the situation. “They’ve got a kid—they’ve got him at gunpoint. And they’ve got a pillowcase full of valuables. Don’t be scared by the mask; it’s not the Screenslaver.”

The others didn’t question him, although confused looks did flash across their faces. “So what shall we do?” Screech asked.

As one, they looked at Voyd.

Her heart jumped into her throat as she realized that they wanted _her_ to tell them the plan. “Uh, um,” she stammered, searching. “What we do is, uh—we go after them!”

They kept looking at her. “And then what?” asked Krushauer pointedly.

She began to formulate something, partially out of the extreme pressure that forced her to pull a plan out of the dark recesses of her dysfunctional mind. To her own shock, she started to command like a leader. “Screech, they’ve got to have a getaway car. You’ll break the windows with your scream, give us easier access. Krushauer—”

“I’ll crush the car?” he asked hopefully.

“ _No_. If you see their gun, you crush _that_. He-Lectrix and Reflux, attack and defend as needed. Brick, you too. Incapacitate the robbers, stop their getaway vehicle, and keep the hostage safe at whatever cost. That’s our goal.” She glanced around at the faces of her friends, realizing she desperately needed their approval. “Is that okay?”

They all nodded, and she exclaimed, “Then let’s go!”

She threw portals ahead of them quickly as they ran down the surprisingly-long hallway that led to the back door of the shop; the voids helped her and her teammates run the span of the hall more quickly than otherwise. The back door was already wide open, revealing a small parking lot behind, and the robbers’ white van was just pulling away onto the street, its tires squeaking on the pavement.

With the aid of his impressive mechanical wings, Screech took flight into the air, and Voyd threw a portal into his path, bringing him closer to the getaway van. With a powerful high-pitched caterwaul that caused Voyd to wince and cover her ears with pain, Screech shattered the van’s windows. The van ground to a quick halt, most likely because the driver’s head was in agony from Screech’s wail

Voyd opened another portal that allowed Krushauer to leap through, landing right next to the van. The blue-costumed hero lifted his hand and squeezed, and Voyd hoped he’d gotten the gun. At the very least, she hadn’t heard the weapon discharge, and she hoped fervently that Mikey hadn’t been shot.

With more portals, Voyd helped the rest of her friends get across the parking lot in moments, and then stepped through herself, closing the void with a quick movement. They surrounded the car, Screech staring down from above.

Voyd called in a firm manner, “Get out of the vehicle _now_.”

From her waist, Voyd heard the drone-and-static whine of the police scanner, but she reached down and turned it off; this was her focus now. Her friends followed her lead and did the same to their own noisemaking scanners.

She heard a stone-cold voice from within the van, though she couldn’t see; from her vantage point, the driver’s seat was blocking her view. “I will kill this hostage if you don’t let us go!”

Moving closer to the driver’s window, Voyd saw the two robbers, still masked, staring at her with hard, furious eyes. Mikey was on the seat between them; his mask had been ripped off at some point, and he was clearly terrified out of his wits. The taller robber, on the passenger side, had both of his hands around Mikey’s neck. His gun was a crushed blob of metal discarded on the dashboard. Krushauer had gotten rid of that threat, at least.

Voyd didn’t think the robber could manage to choke Mikey to death before the Soaring Six took him out. She made a calculated risk, and spoke her orders lightning-fast. “Reflux,” she ordered her elderly colleague, “melt the tires so they can’t get away. Krushauer, destroy the engine to ensure it. Screech, Brick, would you… uh…” She couldn’t think of the right term and briefly struggled; she didn’t want the robbers _killed_ , of course, but “take them out” sounded corny. “… _restrain_ these two criminals?”

The taller robber made good on his threat and began choking Mikey, but now that he didn’t have a weapon, the young man wasn’t as intimidated by the robber, and managed to break free of his grip, twisting and socking him square across the jaw. As for the driver, the shorter thief, he frantically opened the door and tried to escape, but He-Lectrix stepped forward and shoved him back in, slamming the door behind him.

The robber then tried to crawl out through the shattered front window, even as Mikey and the other criminal fought beside him, but Screech swooped down and sat on the hood in front of him, displaying his odd owl-eyes stare that, if you didn’t know Screech, was utterly horrifying. The crook fell back to his seat, blinking rapidly in terror.

Reflux and Krushauer were making good on their orders: Reflux was burping calculated amounts of steaming lava all over each of the tires in turn, causing them to deflate and melt, while Krushauer lifted a lazy hand and twisted and compacted the van’s engine, displacing Screech, who jumped into the air with a small yelp of surprise. The van was thoroughly ruined; there was no chance of a getaway.

Voyd herself made a portal and emerged on the now-crumpled hood of the car, holding her hand out. “Mikey, come on. Time to go.”

Knowing they were screwed, the robbers didn’t object when Mikey clambered onto the hood of the car, accepting Voyd’s bracing hand. They jumped down to the ground together, hostage safe and crisis averted.

Brick simply ripped the passenger door off its hinges and pulled out the struggling robber, easily holding him in place with her large hands. Screech alighted on the ground and he and He-Lectrix worked together to subdue the other man, yanking him from the driver’s seat. Someone—perhaps the couple across the street—had evidently called the police already, because Voyd could hear the sound of distant sirens.

Looking around at her colleagues and friends, at the safe but sheepish-looking hostage and the angry but subdued robbers, Voyd felt a surge of pride. She’d done it! She’d actually taken leadership and orchestrated the end of a theft! She was on top of the world!

The police sirens drew closer and closer, and one of the robbers whimpered, “If you let us go, we’ll give you half the jewels…”

Voyd shook her head, and He-Lectrix and Krushauer laughed. As if.

The police arrived at the parking lot in their blue uniforms, guns drawn, but hesitated at the sight of the supers. Voyd immediately lifted her hands, wary of the police. After fifteen years of being the sole authority on the streets, she knew the cops weren’t used to dealing with the presence of superheroes, and they still weren’t sure of what protocols to follow.

“It’s okay,” she told them. “There was a robbery, but we stopped it.”

After some more hesitation, the officers holstered their weapons and approached, asking questions and, eventually, handcuffing the criminals. They seemed a little unsure of what to do around the supers, and one of them even joked that Voyd was stealing her job, to which Voyd laughed nervously in response. But when all was said and done, two of the police led the criminals away in cuffs to be driven down to the station, while two of them remained, checking out the scene and examining the ruined car.

When Mikey awkwardly asked Voyd if she’d give him his “Screensaver” mask back, Voyd shook her head. After retrieving the mask from the van, she wordlessly gave it to Krushauer, who made short work of it.

“I’m sorry,” she admitted to Mikey, “but you’re just not ready.”

Dejected, Mikey left, ignoring the police’s requests if he needed medical attention. Voyd hated to see him go like this, but she really didn’t know what else to do.

But she had bigger problems. When one of the cops commented, “Why aren’t you guys checking out that big thing downtown?” Voyd’s ears perked up and her heart began to beat faster.

“What thing downtown?” she questioned.

The brunette policewoman shrugged. “There’s been some kind of attack downtown. We were just hearing about it on the radio when we were heading here, but our boss told us to focus on the robbery. I don’t know much more about it.”

Voyd’s heart skipped a beat. “Where downtown?” she demanded, her turned-off police scanner suddenly becoming a deadweight at her hip.

“Houghton Heights, the shopping mall.”

Oh, no. She hoped with every fiber of her being that it wasn’t too bad, that it wasn’t too late. “Come on, guys! We’ve got to get over there!”  

Minutes later, she was on the bike behind He-Lectrix, roaring down the city streets, teal hair streaming behind her, praying that no one had been hurt while they were absent. But before they even got within ten blocks of the shopping mall, Voyd saw the gigantic trail of smoke blurring the starry sky, and her entire body tensed. Oh, no…

When they came across the wreckage of Houghton Heights, it was clear the threat had come and gone. The huge shopping mall was surrounded by police cars with lights flashing red and blue in the dark, as well as fire trucks and ambulances. It had been badly damaged, with a portion of the building still aflame, and firefighters attacking the blaze with their hoses; the whole front section was reduced to rubble, and police and volunteers alike were combing through the wreckage, calling out for survivors.

Voyd and her friends pulled up alongside the mall on their bikes, but even as they dismounted, Voyd knew there was nothing that could be done. Other than helping look for survivors, that is. Brick, Screech, He-Lectrix, Reflux and Krushauer went to help, but Voyd briefly stayed behind, approaching a nearby officer.

“What happened here?” she asked, guilt clouding her senses.

The officer glanced at her, and then gave her a closer look when he realized she was a super. “Where _were_ you people?” he asked pointedly.

The guilt intensified. “I was stopping a robbery. Please, what’s—”

“Supervillains,” he said shortly, turning his gaze toward the ruin. “Two of ’em. Dressed in pink and red outfits, far as we can tell. They attacked with some kind of beam of red energy. Don’t know their motives. Unknown number dead.”

A supervillain. People dead. Oh, no. Voyd blinked back tears, and she felt utterly foolish that, just a short time ago, she’d been naively _hoping_ for a supervillain to show up and give her a challenge. Stupid, stupid, stupid! Now, as she surveyed the rubble in front of her, she wished the villain had never come here at all.

With that, she rushed to help her friends dig through the remains of the mall, hoping that, at the very least, she could offer some help now.

It was only hours later, in the milky blue of the very early morning, when exhausted rescuers—after pulling twelve people alive and three dead from the wreckage—recovered a crumpled note, scrawled in pink marker across the torn-out page of a romance novel, and presented it to Voyd and her friends, assuming it was for them.

“COME AND GET US, SUPERS. —HEARTLESS & QUEEN OF HEARTS.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi and thanks so much for reading!!! Updates on M/W/F! :)


	5. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick gives the wannabes some info on the mall attackers.

On Sunday morning—or, more accurately, afternoon, since it was 12:03—Voyd stumbled out of her tiny bedroom. Without bothering to make herself breakfast, she caught a bus down to Blue Waters Street, where she walked the rest of the way to the SJP, hands stuffed in pockets. She’d gotten around four hours of sleep.

Voyd wouldn’t even have returned home if she’d been allowed to stay the mall—she had been perfectly content to continue combing the rubble and helping with cleanup. But at 7:30 in the morning, after almost ten hours of continuous digging and searching and creating voids among the ruins to check for survivors, she’d been near collapse. And _that_ wouldn’t have stopped her, except that Rick Dicker had arrived on the scene, having taken the first express flight from Phoenix to deal with the situation. The older man took one look at the pale, drawn Voyd and told her to go home. She’d protested, but he ordered it.

To be fair, he’d ordered the rest of the Six to head home, too. She and her friends couldn’t do any work here that the regular authorities couldn’t do with cranes and backhoes. They needed their rest. They were more valuable rested. At least, that was Rick’s reasoning.

Voyd didn’t even bother to get in costume before heading to the SJP, climbing the steep hill and entering its grand double doors wearing only jeans, sneakers and a black tank top. She was so tired, and the suit took quite a while to pull on. She did wear her mask, though, and she carried a duffel bag with her suit packed neatly inside. Despite yesterday’s events, Voyd had every intention of returning to protect the streets of New Urbem tonight. She didn’t know if her friends would feel the same way—and she couldn’t blame them if they just wanted to rest—but for her, the best way to make up to the city for her failure was to double down on crime tonight.

As she’d expected, Rick Dicker was there in the common area, sitting on a couch and looking out over the city. Voyd didn’t know what to expect from him. Would he be angry that they’d missed a huge attack, pleased that they’d manage to stop two small-time robbers, or somewhere in between? She didn’t know, and she was petrified to find out. Gosh, _she’d_ be angry at her. She had royally screwed up by turning off her police scanner…

Voyd was the first to arrive; none of the others were there yet. Just Rick. Great.

Rick glanced up as she walked in, and she noticed he was holding two cups of coffee in his hand. He extended one. “Lucky winner. You’re here first.”

He didn’t _look_ too angry, and a little bit of her fear melted away. She sat down on the couch beside him, taking the offered cup; it was hot in her hand. “Thanks,” she said gratefully as she took a sip. “I needed it.

Rick sipped his own, then wordlessly reached over and picked up the black remote that rested on the couch beside him, turning on the TV. Voyd winced as coverage of the previous night’s carnage filled the color screen, but after a few moments, her guilt turned to interest.

“There’s footage of the actual attack?” she asked.

“Yup,” replied Rick in his gravelly voice. “And not only what the news is airing. The NSA has gathered footage from security cameras all around the area. We have a pretty good timeline of what occurred. I’ll brief you as soon as your colleagues arrive.”

Voyd paused and then asked nervously, “Are you… angry?”

Rick Dicker shook his head. “Wasn’t your fault, kid. You made a mistake turning off your scanner, but you likely wouldn’t have been able to stop the attack in the first place. It was over in mere minutes. Couldn’t have made it in time, at least, not from where you were.”

This was a relief, but Voyd’s problems weren’t over yet. Even though Rick had absolved her, she wasn’t close to forgiving herself. “Three people died,” she said, her hands curling into fists at her sides. “I’ll never turn off my police scanner again.”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself, kid. Rookie mistake. You’re just starting out.” He paused a moment. “Lots of supers were the same way in my prime. Foiled one attack, allowed another. It’s impossible to avoid. And sometimes, you know, a hero’s just got to choose which supervillain to take on.”

Voyd was startled and a little shaken by these words. It seemed obvious now that she was hearing it, but she’d never thought about it like that before. To her, heroes were golden gods, shining from above and delivering justice to everyone and almost always perfect in their deeds. The idea that a super might have to _choose_ who to save… unthinkable.

She knew this mindset was silly, but it was ingrained into her, as it had been since she was a little child fascinated with Elastigirl. Heroes were perfect and always made perfect choices. End of story.

“I really hope that doesn’t ever happen to me,” she said quietly.

Rick gave her a pitying look. “Just be ready for it. The day may come.”

“I’ll try my best.”

“I know you will, kid. I know you will.”

Voyd heard the door open, and in walked He-Lectrix. He was dressed in his super suit and mask, but underneath, he looked beyond exhausted. She couldn’t imagine he’d gotten much more sleep than her.

“Hey,” she greeted with as cheerful a wave as she could muster, which was not very cheerful whatsoever. “You okay?”

He shrugged as he slumped down onto a chair. “I’ve been better.”

“Yeah, me too.”

The rest of the supers arrived in short order, all of them similarly tired. Voyd imagined that there’d be naps all around later in the day: no afternoon practice for any of them. She, for one, was looking forward to collapsing into a mattress and spending a few hours in slumber before heading out tonight to fight more crime.

When Krushauer, Brick, Reflux and Screech had all arrived—each dressed in their hero costumes except Krushauer, who wore a dark button-down shirt and nice pants (mask on)—Rick stood and went over by the TV, hands shoved in pockets. “Long story short, the NSA has compiled footage of the attack from security cameras in the area,” he informed them. “We believe we’re dealing with a pair of new supervillains who are unknown to our database.”

“If I may ask, what abilities do they have?” spoke up Screech.

“See for yourself.” Rick removed the remote from his pocket and clicked a button. Grainy footage of the attack on Houghton Heights began to play out on the screen. At first, peace, with civilians walking normally in and out of the large shopping mall, as well as down the sidewalk outside. Then, two figures approached on foot, wearing strange costumes. People stopped to stare and point. With a sickening feeling, Voyd imagined that the civilians may have, at first, believed that these two evildoers were _supers_.

One of the figures lifted their hands, and a blast of fiery energy emerged, spraying the building and causing rubble and debris to fly everywhere as the front section completely caved in. Voyd gasped at the sight of this person’s power, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw Krushauer and Reflux lean forward in horrified fascination.

The assault continued for a mere two-and-a-half minutes, by which time the once-proud shopping mall was nearly destroyed. By the time the police arrived, the figures had disappeared from view.

Rick showed them the footage again and again, silently clicking through various security cam versions of the same event until Voyd had the sequence memorized. The last piece of footage he showed them was, by far, the clearest, and it was in color. Rick pressed a button and the screen froze on a crystal-clear image of the villains themselves. He zoomed in, in, in, until their faces and costumes filled the screen.

There was an older woman, the upper part of her face hidden by a dark red mask, wearing a dark red suit accented with pink gloves and pink thigh-high boots; she had a cursive H emblazoned on her chest, encircled by a fiery heart. Her hard-lined mouth was surrounded by crows’ feet. The other was much younger and shorter; her suit and mask were largely the same as the first, except that hers was emblazoned with a Q.

“Heartless and Queen of Hearts,” murmured Voyd out loud, remembering the note.

“Here’s what we know,” Rick told the Soaring Six. “The older one doesn’t appear to have any super abilities that we can see. The younger one, though, is immensely powerful. Not only that, but they used advanced cloaking technology to arrive and escape undetected, and the super seems to be using some sort of amplifying device to increase her power.” He pointed to the girl’s gloved hands, and Voyd now saw that there were a pair of thin, glowing bracelets around her wrists.

“Their motives are unclear, their origins are uncertain, their resources seem to be unlimited, and we don’t know who they are. We at the NSA are trying to get the CIA to grant us access to their advanced facial recognition technology, but…” He exhaled in subdued annoyance. “They’re touchy people. Suffice to say, it may take a while to gain authorization. The fact that three people were killed may spur their sides a tad.”

Krushauer spoke up, sounding sarcastic and disbelieving. “Are you telling me that the NSA needs to beg other organizations for help?”

Rick gave him a tired look. “Don’t start with me. It’s been a long day.”

“So it has been for us all. I still think it is a valid question.”

“You may have noticed in your time working with us that the NSA is not the most respected of government branches,” Rick answered. “In the past 15 years, we’ve fallen into disrepair. Yes, compared to organizations like the CIA and the FBI, we are woefully underfunded, and yes, in some areas, we lack their advanced technology. We’re forced to work with whatever scraps the higher-ups decide to throw at us. It’s improved in the past months, but we’ve got a long road ahead before we’re back to our full glory. Winston Deavor has been an enormous help, but he can’t bring us all the way.”

This was exactly what Voyd had suspected, though she didn’t enjoy hearing it nonetheless.

“Now, may I continue?” Rick asked, a hint of sarcasm tainting his voice.

“By all means,” said Krushauer, the same tone affecting his own.

The NSA agent turned back to the TV, again pointing with a thin, gnarled finger at the villainous figures that flickered grainy on the screen. “These two are the worst kind of villains. They’re very dangerous and seemingly lack discrimination or compassion. Be on your guard; be ready if they strike again. I can’t technically give you orders, but I can _ask_ you very firmly to keep your police scanners on at all times.” His stern look made it clear that, though he framed it as such, this was not a request.

“One last thing,” added the sharp-dressed NSA agent. “If these villains should attack again, prioritize civilian evacuation over property. The insurance bigwigs wouldn’t like to hear me recommending that course of action, but I’ll recommend it nonetheless. These aren’t small-time bank robbers. They stole nothing. Their goal was to cause damage and end lives. Your goal is to stop _their_ goal, get as many people out as you can.”

Voyd nodded rapidly. “Yes, sir. We won’t let you down.”

Rick didn’t respond, only shut the television off with the press of a button. “I’ll be at the local NSA headquarters if you need me. But frankly, I’d prefer you _didn’t_ need me.” With that, the agent made himself scarce.

After the front doors shut behind Rick, Voyd turned to her friends, determination etched on her face. “We can’t let that happen again, guys. He’s right, it’s my fault—I should never have turned my scanner off. People _died_ because we weren’t there.”

And this was the life of a super, wasn’t it—holding everyone’s lives in your hands by default?

With a clenched fist, she vowed, “I’ll never let that happen again.”

Krushauer didn’t look convinced. “Even if we had had our scanners on, what would it have mattered? Would we have arrived in time? The attack was over in minutes. We can’t be in two places at once.”

Voyd struggled with the question. “I don’t know,” she admitted, “but we still screwed up.”

“Not entirely,” pointed out He-Lectrix. “We saved a hostage. We stopped two thieves. That’s something, isn’t it?”

Her guilt and shame lifted a tiny bit, like clouds parting to reveal a sliver of a sunny sky, as she began to dwell less on what they _hadn’t_ done the previous night and more on what they _had_. “Yeah. I guess we did.”

“We mesh excellently as a team,” Screech chimed in, blinking his huge eyes. “In my opinion, at least. We pursued those criminals like a well-oiled machine.”

“It felt _easy_ ,” commented the soft-spoken Brick, calm and neutral as always. "Working with you all.”

“Those burglars didn’t stand a chance against us!” exclaimed Reflux, pride causing his weathered face to glow. Or maybe it was just lava. Voyd couldn’t tell, and it made her slightly nervous.

Krushauer, ever the cynic, muttered, “Or perhaps they were just terrible criminals. Perhaps against _real_ villains, we wouldn’t stand a chance.”

Voyd took issue. “Come on! We’ve all held our own before. We know we’re good. We know we’re capable. We know we can be _real heroes_. We could take down any villain with our power combined. Even the ones who attacked the mall last night.” She smacked a fist into her open hand. “Let’s just see them try to attack innocent people again. We’ll kick their butts into the stratosphere so hard, they’ll circle the moon, like, five times.” She looked at each of her friends in rapid succession. “Who’s with me?”

Screech was smiling with head cocked to the side, as usual; Krushauer didn’t look convinced; and He-Lectrix, Brick and Reflux looked like they wanted to agree, but just couldn’t. Voyd’s heart sunk a little.

“I’m with you,” He-Lectrix spoke up, and the rest stated their half-hearted agreement. Well. Voyd hated that they doubted themselves, but she couldn’t blame them—she doubted herself half the time, too—and on top of that, a team full of cynics was better than no team at all.

“Great!” said Voyd, keeping her boundless enthusiasm rolling. “So tonight, are we all ready to go back out there and do some more hero work?”

None of them looked ready. Screech spoke up hesitantly, raising a brown-gloved, taloned finger. “If I may, I’m quite fatigued. I think I’ll retire to the bunks for a while before we resume our work tonight.”

A sentiment Voyd shared. Now that Screech mentioned being tired, she felt her own exhaustion seep in her bones and her skin, and she involuntarily yawned. “I’m with you. I think I’ll have a nap too for a while.”

But when she’d laid down on top of the covers of the plush bed in one of the modern, tasteful bedrooms in the SJP, Voyd found herself unable to catch a wink. She tossed and turned, frowning and trying to push her guilt away.

Being a super meant making hard choices. Facing tough situations. Sometimes, it meant you wouldn’t be able to save everybody. And you’d have to live with the fact that, if you’d simply been there, no one would have had to die.

Elastigirl would’ve gotten to the mall in time.

What would the red-headed superhero think about how the Soaring Six had failed?

The thought pierced Voyd hard, till she felt she might vomit from it, but she tried her best to push it away. Elastigirl was a kind person, and she wouldn’t judge… would she? For a moment, Voyd toyed with the thought of actually calling Elastigirl for advice on how to deal with these emotions. The very concept that _she_ could potentially call _Elastigirl_ for advice caused butterflies to flare to life in her stomach, even now, after she’d gotten to know her childhood idol and even fought alongside her.  

But she wouldn’t call Elastigirl, didn’t want to interrupt her vacation. After the defeat of Evelyn, as thanks for stopping his sister without hurting her (and, y’know, saving the entire city), Winston Deavor had rewarded Elastigirl and her husband with a cheque. The exact contents of the cheque were unknown, but Voyd had heard rumors that the sight of the amount nearly made Mr. Incredible faint. With their new mini-fortune, the Incredibles had decided to take a hiatus from fighting crime. Not long—just a few months to rest, reconnect as a family, and figure out how to navigate this new and challenging world where heroes were free to be themselves again.

Voyd vividly recalled the moment when Elastigirl had placed a black-gloved hand on her shoulder. “You guys can handle saving the world without us for a while, can’t you?” she’d asked with a half-smile. Bright red and skin tingling under the super’s touch, Voyd mumbled something incoherent in response, probably something along the lines of “I think so.”

So no, Voyd wouldn’t call Elastigirl for help. On top of the fact that the idea terrified her, she didn’t want to erupt the Incredibles’ vacation.

She just wanted to sleep right now, and besides, without rest, she might not be able to help people to the best of her ability.

It was a long time coming, but she finally managed to drift off.


	6. Doubts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last few minutes before the team goes out to fight crime.

…and awoke almost immediately to the sound of her alarm, the one she’d set on the wooden bedside dresser, blaring in her ear.

Groaning, Voyd pushed herself up and stretched. She had no idea how long she’d managed to sleep. Felt like all of five minutes. But she’d set the alarm for 5:00, which meant she’d slept for four-plus hours. It darn well didn’t feel like it.

Oh, well, Nonetheless, it was time to get dressed.

Voyd leaned down and unzipped her duffel bag, smiling slightly at the sight of the green and blue suit within. It was a gift from Alexander Galbaki. Originally, Winston Deavor had commissioned the outfit for her—and offered to pay every cent—but when Galbaki met Voyd and saw her powers in person, he’d been so impressed that he refused to accept payment for the suit. This was the second time in her whole life that Voyd had met someone who was awed and made _happy_ by her abilities, the first having been Winston Deavor. It was a giddy feeling, and whenever she saw the brightly-colored super costume, that feeling of that moment flared to life within her again.

When she’d suited up, Voyd left the room and went out to the living area. The sky outside was getting slightly dim with the beginnings of evening, and He-Lectrix was sitting on a cream-colored couch, gazing out the window. Otherwise, the room was empty. Screech and Krushauer had gone home for a few hours, while the rest likely hadn’t awoken from their naps yet.

Voyd sat down next to him and tucked a strand of blue hair behind her ear in slight nervousness, as was her habit when she was around… well… literally anyone, actually. Even her colleagues and friends. Despite all the progress she had made in recent months, she still couldn’t shake her childhood fears and insecurities entirely. Maybe someday.

He turned to her, a half-smile on his thin face. “Rough day, huh?”

“Yeah.” She looked out the expansive window over the city, her eyes quickly finding the faraway downtown spot where trails of smoke still rose from the ruins of the mall she’d failed to protect. The sight made her heart clench with guilt. “I feel so scummy,” she admitted.

He-Lectrix shook his head. “Don’t be. It’s not your fault.”

“Everyone keeps saying that, so why don’t I believe them?” Her voice was tense with frustration.

“Because you think you need to save everyone,” he replied with a hint of wry, knowing amusement. “All at the same time. Hate to tell you, but it’s impossible. Always has been.”

“I know,” she exhaled, scaling herself back. “I know we can’t be everywhere at once. Like, deep in my brain, I know it’s true. But when I think about the idea that we could sacrifice somebody by saving someone else…” Voyd cast her blue eyes toward the ground. “I just feel like throwing up.”

He-Lectrix just regarded her silently for a moment, expression unreadable, before he commented. “I get where you’re coming from. Because when I think about the fact that three innocent people lost their lives because we were saving that _idiot_ Mikey, I want to throw up too.”

Voyd didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or protest. She chose the latter. “Come on, cut him some slack—he just wanted to help.”

“Yeah. I know. But there are so many ways he could’ve gone about it that weren’t quite that stupid.”

“I want to find him,” she stated, “and I want to help him help _us_. If he really wants to be a hero, there are ways. He could work with the NSA—I could put in a good word with Rick.”

He-Lectrix chuckled. “I doubt Rick will want to hear any good words about him.”

“That’s true, but still. If he wants to work with us, I’ll fight to make it happen! He just wants to make up for the things he did. And…” Memories flashed bright before her eyes. Last night: the blazing ruins. Decades ago: accidentally hurting those around her. “I _get_ that.”

“That’s admirable,” He-Lectrix said. “But both of you are forgetting one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“That what happened wasn’t your faults. And neither of you has some kind of grand obligation to atone. Despite what you seem to believe.”

Voyd immediately rejected this notion out of hand. “No, we _do_. I mean—maybe he doesn’t, but I do.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Well… Mikey wasn’t in control of what he did. He was hypnotized, and Evelyn made him do all the evil things he did. It was totally out of his control. Me, though?” She felt shame hit her anew with the memory. “I _chose_ to turn off my police scanner, and I ruined any chance we could’ve had of helping. That’s totally on me.”

“But this isn’t just about the police scanner, is it?” he asked, perceptive.

Voyd didn’t know what to say for a minute. Of course it wasn’t just about the police scanner. But she didn’t know if she wanted to talk to He-Lectrix about all that. Not yet.

She decided to just awkwardly and blatantly change the subject like the dork she was. “Anyway, no matter whether I have an obligation to atone or not, I’m going to try my best tonight. No turned-off scanners. No escaped villains. We’ll make New Urbem the safest town in the hemisphere.”

“Some of the others might object to that,” he pointed out. “None of us are exactly bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.”

As if on cue, the nearby doors opened and Screech entered from outside, wearing his brown-and-black suit complete with owl-like wings. The wings were a wonder of engineering: they looked as though they simply grew from Screech’s back naturally, but truthfully, they were the invention of an English designer whose named escaped Voyd at the moment. As Screech already had owl-like features, the inventor had simply built a metal-framed, lightweight, durable pair of owllike wings to grant Screech the one ability that an owl had, but he lacked: the power of flight. The wings were wirelessly connected to Screech’s mind and moved at his brain’s command, as easily as Voyd could flutter her fingers. It was the most advanced tech you could get.

Screech always had a strangely birdlike expression, one that made it difficult to discern how he was feeling sometimes. He wore that expression now as he approached his teammates. At least he didn’t look bushed, Voyd thought, and the fact that he was here, let alone that he was dressed in his super suit, indicated that he was ready for a night of hero work.

She raised a hand in greeting. “Hey!”

“Good afternoon.” He was formal as always. “Are the others coming?”

“I think most of ’em are still asleep.”

“That is not a surprise.” Screech sat down on a chair, talon-like hands folded in his lap.

“You tired?” He-Lectrix asked.

Screech shrugged. “No more than usual. Besides, I simply can’t stop thinking on what we did last night.”

Voyd internally cringed a little, believing that Screech was going to talk about his own guilt over what had happened, which would only make _her_ feel guiltier and might even possibly result in some tears. But it was the opposite.

“In all my years, only the rarest of times have I utilized my screech to stop criminals in their tracks. Last night’s exploits thrilled me to no end.” His orange eyes gleamed with excitement. “Yes, I know we made an error, but despite that, I can’t help but feel proud of what we did. I hope tonight, we meet some delinquents who give us a better chase. I find it most thrilling to pursue and stop criminals.”

These were sentiments that Voyd agreed with. “Yeah, we did do pretty great, didn’t we?” she offered hesitantly.

“Speak for yourself,” He-Lectrix butted in, speaking in a mock-bitter tone. “Some of us didn’t really get the chance to _do_ anything.”

Voyd knew he was joking, but his comment still worried her. “That’s not true! You helped bring the others to the scene, and you helped capture the robbers. We all helped.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t get to…” He lifted his hands, clawlike. “Zap.”

“Well, you never know. Tonight might be your night to…” She mimicked his hands. “Zap.”

At that moment, Krushauer entered the room, now dressed in his blue super costume. He wordlessly lifted a hand in greeting to his fellow supers and went to stand by the window, his favorite spot. Voyd didn’t know the blue-suited super all that well. He was pretty enigmatic, and she didn’t know much about his past or his current civilian life; he kept those details close to his chest. She did know that he was German, originally, and that he probably had a high-powered career elsewhere, as sometimes he referred to “not having enough time.” She did know he liked to crush things. He made no secret about that.

“How you feeling?” she asked Krushauer.

“I’ve had better days. And worse ones,” came his vague response.

“Same,” she responded sympathetically. She’d definitely had way better days than yesterday and today, but despite how awful they’d been, did they scratch her top 10 worst days of all time? Nope. Not really.

Within the next half-hour, Reflux had awoken from his rest, and Brick had arrived back from the outside. Each were suited-up in their costumes, and though all looked at least a little tired, Voyd’s excitement slowly grew as she realized that none of her friends had been deterred by what happened yesterday. They were all ready to go, well-prepared for another night of hero work.

Voyd tried her best to put aside her feelings of guilt and doubt. These emotions wouldn’t serve the people of New Urbem, not tonight. Tonight, if she and her colleagues were going to fight crime, they needed to be sharp, on their toes, not weighed down by insecurities. Sure, it was hard, but the citizens were worth it.

She looked out the window as her friends awkwardly chatted, all apparently trying to skirt around the subject of yesterday’s attack. Sunset’s hues of gold and pink and orange were streaked across the sky like spilled paint, bathing the city of New Urbem, all its skyscrapers and museums and alleyways, in a multihued glow. _This_ was worth protecting. And it was evening: nearing the time of day when the city most needed its loyal guards.

“Well, everyone,” Voyd interrupted their idle chatter with smiling determination. “Ready to go out and kick some butt?"


	7. The God's Eye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some general hero work is done; Voyd and her friends encounter a villain, a house fire, and strife within the team.

Based on what had happened the previous evening, the Soaring Six had set out some new basic ground rules. They’d agreed on them earlier in the day.

1: Unless there was an enormous threat to citizens’ lives, at no point should all six of them be in the same place at once—not when two or three would suffice. Better to diffuse around the city.

2: Keep scanners on, always.

3: After the police arrived on the scene of a crime, there was no need for the heroes to remain there. Thank the officers and go stop another criminal.

With these rules in mind, they again split up into three teams which surveyed different areas of nighttime New Urbem. This time, Voyd was paired up with Brick, He-Lectrix with Krushauer, and Screech with Reflux. Rick Dicker had told them it was a good idea to rotate their “mini-teams.” If they spent enough time with one person, the Soaring Six might become a loose grouping of three pairs instead of the cohesive unit they _needed_ to be. Rick had seen this before: it had happened with the super team known as the Phantasmics, and despite Rick’s best efforts to mediate, that group was never able to become a really effective team again.

Voyd internally vowed she’d never let this happen. If the Six split up someday, it wouldn’t be from lack of effort—not hers, anyway.

Right now, sunset was almost over, leaving only the barest hint of pink on the blue horizon. It was nighttime, and New Urbem should have been bustling—but it wasn’t. Only a sparse few people walked along the downtown streets, despite the fact that all the storefronts were lit up invitingly to welcome visitors.

Of course, that was to be expected—after yesterday’s events, people would be scared silly. Voyd felt a pang in her heart for the innocent civilians who were afraid to go outside. In a way, they were victims too. Victims who she had failed to help. Victims who couldn’t be sure that a super would save them if they got into trouble.  

Voyd stood on top of a brick apartment building, leaning against a wall behind her—along with their bike, which had been brought to the roof by use of Voyd’s portals—and surveying the streets below. The hulking figure of Brick was nearby, quiet as always. Like Krushauer, Voyd didn’t know Brick very well. Actually, if she was being totally honest, she didn’t know _any_ of her teammates super well. But that was to be expected, right? After all, they’d only been working together a few months.

From what Voyd knew of Brick, the super came from a European country overseas, although whenever Brick was asked about her origins, she would flatly reply, “Wisconsin.” Voyd also knew that in recent months, Brick had been undergoing therapy for a speech impediment. It seemed to be working well—Brick appeared to be having a much easier time with speaking now, although she still spoke very slowly compared to the others in their group, and her words were thickly-accented, making her difficult to understand at times.

Voyd’s headset—a clunky-looking thing that weighed down her head and, she had to admit, looked pretty stupid—crackled to life in her ears. That was another thing they’d agreed as a team: even though the headsets the NSA had provided them were kind of terrible, they would wear them nonetheless. If they had done so yesterday, it would have been far easier to summon help when Mikey was being taken hostage. Yesterday had just been _filled_ with mistakes.

Through electrical whine and static, Voyd could just barely make out the sound of He-Lectrix’s voice. “There’s been a tour bus robbery on Baker and Fifth. Going to check it out.”

“You hear that?” she asked her partner. Silently, Brick nodded.

It had been a pretty quiet night. They’d been out on the town for an hour, and there’d been no signs of suspicious activity, nothing of note on the police scanner, no civilians crying out for help—nothing. Despite feeling vaguely useless, Voyd was grateful. No news is good news, after all. After yesterday’s attack, New Urbem could use some peace and quiet.

After a few minutes of quiet, Voyd was deep in thought, so much so that she nearly jumped a foot when Brick’s deep voice sounded from beside her.

“I like this time of night best,” said the tall super softly and quietly. “My mother called it blue hour. We sat outside together and played jazz music and watched blur hour go by.”

Voyd was surprised, but a little grateful (she’d been rather lonely), that Brick was feeling talkative. “Do you still talk to your mother?” she asked.

Brick shook her head. “She died many years ago.”

“Oh—I’m sorry.”

Brick nodded in acknowledgement. “She had happy life. She found good in everything. Even in last days, when she was in hospital. She was happy for things: kind nurses, view from window, smell of flowers I bring her. I try to be like her. I like to find good in everything.” The super exhaled. “Sometimes, it’s hard.”

Voyd was somewhat startled by this impromptu admission, and felt obligated to return it with one of her own. She stumbled over it awkwardly, though. “My mom was like that, too. Super positive about everything. I mean—even when supers got banned…” She trailed off, unsure of what else to say, fumbling her words and losing her train of thought and generally feeling like an idiot.

Brick didn’t seem bothered. “Is your mother alive?” she asked.

“Yeah. She’s still around. I don’t talk to her much anymore, though.” Voyd felt a little sad thinking about her mom, her kind green eyes and heart-shaped face. The last time she’d seen her mother… hadn’t been nice. She wished things hadn’t ended on those terms, but she just couldn’t think of any way to fix it.

“I’m the same,” said Brick.

It was a moment before Voyd realized Brick had made a joke, and a pretty dark one at that. Despite herself, she snorted.

He-Lectrix’s voice sounded over the police scanner, sounding disappointed. “Robbery was a false alarm. No dice.”

It was silence for a few minutes before Voyd spoke up again. “If you don’t mind me asking,” she hesitantly ventured, “what did your mom die of?”

“Stomach cancer,” answered Brick. “Also, went to her lungs and kidneys. But she stayed happy to last moment.”

“I’m really sorry,” Voyd said for a second time, and meant it.

“On day she died, she called me over.” Brick was staring into the distance, seeing something that Voyd couldn’t. “She said, ‘Connie, I have something for you.’ She give me notebooks, journals from past ten years. In every one, she speak about going on porch with me and watching blue hour pass by. After she died, I read them all and cried. And so, whenever this time of night, I think of her.”  

“Wow.” Voyd couldn’t think of what to say to this unexpected admission, and she floundered for a moment. “That’s… really sad. But really nice, too. If I ever lost my mom, I’d like to have a piece of her like that.”

Brick nodded her head slowly, and though she was clearly lost in her sad memories, Voyd couldn’t see any trace of regret on the hero’s face. “I’m always grateful she gave me journals.”

Voyd once again felt like she should admit some story of her own, to make up for the emotional cocktail of sadness that Brick had just unloaded upon her. She opened her mouth to speak, unsure of what was going to emerge, when suddenly an enthusiastic voice crackled tinny through her headset, interrupting her.

“How’s the world’s best team of crimefighters doing on this fine Sunday evening?”

Voyd knew it well; it was Winston Deavor’s, and it was hard to hear that sunny voice without your day being at least a _little_ improved. “Hey, Winston.” Her voice joined the other Six’s in a chorus of greetings.

Winston had access to their radio signal and their body cams, and, whenever the whim struck him, the tycoon was able to observe their heroics through the cams and speak to them through their terrible NSA earpieces from the comfort of his own home or office. Voyd might have felt a little weird about this, were it any other civilian doing the watching, but Winston was so positive, cheerful and obsessed with their crime-fighting that it was impossible to resent his presence. And, plus, even if they _had_ felt inclined to dislike the idea of Winston watching them, he’d been so generous with the Soaring Six that they wouldn’t have said anything, anyhow.

“Anything interesting so far?” Winston asked. The mere four words sent a whine of feedback piercing into Voyd’s ear. She winced hard, and she saw Brick do the same. These headsets were so terrible. Voyd lived in hope that someday, they’d be replaced with newer ones.

She heard Reflux speak up in his cranky-old-man tones. “Nothing on our end. Boring as all get-out.”

“The same with us,” came He-Lectrix’s voice crackling into Voyd’s ears. “We did stop a jaywalker, though.”

“We’re the same,” Voyd commented. “It’s a quiet night. I guess even the criminals are too scared to leave their houses.”

“That’s good, though!” Winston’s disembodied voice exclaimed. “Right? No one’s getting hurt or robbed. Nothing’s been stolen. New Urbem is safe.”

He-Lectrix spoke up. “It may be good for the people of New Urbem,” he said dryly, “but for us supers, we’re feeling pretty useless right about now.”

Voyd had to agree, though reluctantly. It wasn’t like she _wanted_ criminal activity to happen—she really, really didn’t—but on the other hand, the blue-haired super was getting a little tired of just standing around. Even stopping a jaywalker sounded really appealing right about now.

“Do you have any info about what happened last night at the mall?” she asked Winston. It was possible that, even if the NSA was uninformed about the attack or the ladies who caused it, Winston might know something more. After all, Winston and his company DevTech were quite a bit more well-funded than the NSA. Sad, but true.

Winston made a negative sound. “Nope. Terrible stuff. I don’t know anything more about it than you do.”

At her hip, Voyd’s police scanner began to emit sound, and she listened closely among the staticky rustle for any words she could glean; Brick’s scanner did the same. She heard a female voice, something about suspicious activity at the New Urbem Art Gallery. A male voice in response: “Don’t bother checking it out. We’ve had five false alarms…” The voice cracked into pieces of static and whine before resuming a moment later. “…nothing to worry about.”

Voyd glanced up at Brick. “The art gallery… isn’t that close to here?”

“I know it. It’s close,” said the soft-spoken super.

“Think we should take a look?”

“Why not?” responded Brick with a smile.

“Okay. Everyone, we’re going to check out reports of suspicious activity at the art gallery,” Voyd announced to the others via her headset.

“Need backup?” came He-Lectrix’s voice.

Voyd hesitated. Her first instinct was to say yes: she liked the idea of their whole team fighting crime together. But realistically, it was a bad idea. If they were all in one place at the same time, it would be difficult for them to stop other incidents of crime that might occur.

“Nah, I think we’re okay. We’re not even sure if it’s anything anyway. The cops on the radio didn’t seem to think so.”

“Okay,” He-Lectrix responded.

“We’ll call you if things get bad,” Voyd told her colleagues. Then she willed the hum to come to her fingers, and she threw a portal into the air and another onto the street below. Brick wheeled their bike from its resting place on the wall and mounted it, with Voyd behind; they sped through the portal, emerging on the street with nary a bump to mark their transition.

Brick knew the way to the art gallery; she didn’t call up the GPS option on the dashboard of their bike, preferring to guide her own way through the dark downtown streets. “You go to the gallery often?” Voyd called over the rush of the wind.

“Every week,” came Brick’s response. “My mother and me, both artists. I love paintings and sculptures.”

You learn something new every day.

After a short time of driving, they’d cruised to an easy halt just outside of the New Urbem Art Gallery. A grand set of stone steps led to the cool gray building, which was three-tiered: a larger square making up the bottom, then a smaller square resting on top, and a third on top of that, each comprising a different floor. Voyd liked the design of the building, but she’d never been here herself; she’d only distantly been aware that New Urbem _had_ an art gallery. She made a mental note to pay this place a visit in the daylight hours.

After turning the bike invisible so it wouldn’t be bothered, Voyd and Brick made their way up the steps. The area was lit only by the streetlamps on the road and by a few scattered spotlights here and there. The two supers approached the front doors, and Voyd pressed a gloved hand to the glass, peering inside with a squint. She couldn’t see anything untoward in the lobby of the art gallery. Then again…

“Brick, don’t you think there should be security guys patrolling this place?” she asked suspiciously, still keeping a keen eye on the still and quiet lobby. “You know, if there are valuable works of art inside and everything?”

When Brick spoke, she sounded disquieted. “Yes. Guards are supposed to be here around clock.”

“But there’s nothing…” Voyd stepped away from the doors, frowning. “Something feels off to me. Want to step inside and take a look?”

“Sounds like good idea.”

Voyd lifted her hand and created a portal in the glass doors, allowing herself and Brick to step through. When they’d entered, she closed the portal with a twitch of her fist and pressed the button on her police scanner that activated the flashlight, flooding the place with light. The lobby, with a front desk, modern glass water fountain, a few scattered white couches, and a large sculpture in the right corner, was entirely empty. No security guards could be seen, and when Voyd looked into the distance, down into the area that led to the actual art displays, she couldn’t see any telltale beams of light or hear any noises that would suggest a guard was on patrol.

“Something is wrong,” said Brick.

Winston’s voice came through their headsets. “In case you were wondering, I just checked the art gallery’s security details. There should be at least three guards watching the place at all times. Something’s definitely a little screwy.”

“Maybe they’re all just… somewhere else, where we can’t see them,” Voyd offered hopefully. “Or taking a break.”

But Brick shook her head. “No, I _feel_ something wrong.”

Her tone of voice made Voyd gulp. “Okay… I guess we’ll have to head into the gallery to check things out.”

“Don’t worry,” said Winston, “I’ll watch through your cameras and tell you if there’s something wrong that you don’t notice. I’ve got your backs.”

“Thanks,” Voyd responded with a smile. Good to know someone was out there watching out for them. If they’d been alone in this silent gallery at night, with security guards mysteriously missing and Brick having an intuition that something was wrong, Voyd would’ve been thoroughly spooked. But Winston’s presence somehow made things feel a little better, a little less lonely.

Voyd and Brick made their way through the lobby and into the open area, walls covered with beautiful artworks, that made up the main gallery. There was no light in the high-ceilinged room at all, and if it weren’t for Voyd’s flashlight, they would have been in total darkness.

Voyd’s gaze brushed around the room. Nothing looked untoward; nothing was missing, at least, not that she could see. “Everything looks fine, Brick,” she noted to her partner.

“So far,” Brick murmured in response.

“Hey, could you try and be a _little_ less ominous? Thanks.” Voyd may have said it in a joking tone, but she really meant it.

Brick’s attention was attracted by something else, though, and she started to jog towards the southern wall, eyes fixed on something Voyd couldn’t entirely make out in the darkness. Voyd followed her partner and, as they drew closer, she saw it: a crumpled, dark form on the ground.

Brick knelt beside the downed figure, gently shaking it. “Hello? Sir?”

Voyd stood over the two, staring with wide eyes. It was a security guard, dressed in uniform, eyes closed and unmoving. He looked as though he was sleeping soundly. Or… dead.

“Is he okay?” Voyd whispered, feeling chills run down her spine.

Brick looked up at her partner, concern in her eyes. “He is alive. But Voyd, I don’t think this was accident.”

“What? Why not?”

Brick reached toward the man’s neck and gently plucked something from the skin, holding it up into the light for Voyd to see. A dart. A feathered dart.

“Oh, my god,” Voyd said, eyes like dinner plates. “This is a robbery, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Brick stood to her feet, grimly looking around the room. “We’ll find more like him.”

“But what did the thief steal? There’s nothing missing… is there?” Voyd knew Brick was more familiar with the art gallery than her; maybe there _was_ something gone, a painting or sculpture, that Voyd simply hadn’t noticed.

“I see nothing missing. But there are more rooms. And…” Brick blinked, seeming to remember something. “The God’s Eye diamond.”

“The what?”

“It’s a big event,” Winston spoke up. “The diamond is one of the largest in the world. It’s being displayed here in the gallery for three days. I just saw it yesterday. Beautiful jewel, near-flawless. Worth hundreds of millions. Let me just look it up…”

Voyd heard clicking and muttering on Winston’s end; no doubt the tycoon was using his advanced computer system to search for information on the diamond. After a few moments, he spoke up again. “It’s protected not only by guards, but by a three-tiered system. It’s held in a three-layered glass display case that’s sensitive to the lightest touch. At night, lasers span the floor and the room is highly temperature-controlled. If anyone set foot in there, the whole building would immediately be flooded with light and the police would be called automatically.”

“So the diamond must be safe!” Voyd exclaimed, relief flooding her. “After all, if anyone was in there, the alarms would be going off. It’s not like power to the building has been cut off—we saw that the lights outside are still on.”

“Not necessarily,” Winston cut in. “Feasibly, if someone had a specially-designed suit that allowed them to disguise their heat signal and levitate above the lasers, that someone could bypass the security system and pilfer to their heart’s content.”

Brick and Voyd looked at each other. “You think it’s possible?” Voyd asked.

“Maybe,” Brick replied.

Screech’s voice sounded through their headsets. “I don’t mean to interrupt, but do you two require any assistance? It sounds like you’re having quite the adventure.”

Voyd hesitated, unsure of how to proceed. “I think we might need some help. Something violent happened here. If this criminal takes us both down with darts, we’ll need some backup.”

“I’ll speed to the art gallery post-haste. I’ll hover overhead and, should you need rescuing, I’ll swoop down.”

“Sounds like a plan,” said Voyd.

Voyd and Brick headed to the next part of the art gallery. On their way, they passed two more security guards lying on the ground with darts on their necks, alive but down for the count.

“And that makes three,” Voyd said nervously as she passed their prone forms on the floor.

Winston’s whistle sounded through the headset. “This guy means business. Be careful, you two.”

The two supers passed through yet another room of the art gallery, and nothing seemed amiss there, either: all paintings were in their spots, and all sculptures seemed to be in their place on the floor, at least, as far as Voyd could tell.

When they reached a door at the end of the room, Brick stopped and said quietly to Voyd, “This is where they keep diamond.”

Voyd pressed her ear to the door and listened. She couldn’t hear anything—no footsteps, no humming of a hovering device, nothing of the sort. But that didn’t mean there wasn’t a stealthy criminal within, poaching the gem.

“Want to go in?” Voyd asked.

“Careful, you guys,” Winston warned. “Tread with caution.”

They heard Screech’s voice over the headset. “I’ve arrived. I’ll be close by if you need me.”

Voyd glanced at Brick. “Better now than never,” she suggested, even though her heart was racing with nervousness about what they’d find in the next room.

Brick silently nodded her acquiescence, and Voyd pressed her hand to the opaque wooden door, creating a large hole in its fabric with one of her voids.

The two supers peered through the hole. In the large, octagon-shaped room, the floors were spanned with a tight grid of yellow lasers that made it impossible to access—on foot, at least—the glass display case in the center, where rested the sparkling form of the largest diamond Voyd had ever seen. It was the size of her head. It was marvelous.

But the black-suited person hovering just above the display case was not on foot.

As Voyd’s flashlight, beaming from her hip, shone into the person’s eyes, the villain’s head jerked toward the source of the light. For a moment, evildoer and heroes regarded each other silently. The person was suspended in midair through some means Voyd couldn’t discern. They were dressed all in a skin-tight, shiny black suit from head to toe; their face couldn’t be seen, but Voyd guessed this person was female. Two black, triangular ears were on the head of the costume, and a black tail sprouted from the hindquarters. The person was quite catlike.

Perhaps most notably: at the thief’s hip, hanging by a belt, there was what seemed to be a tranquilizer gun. Voyd also saw several tiny holsters that were just the right size and shape for the darts they’d seen in the security guards’ necks, and all those slots were empty. But that didn’t mean the gun wasn’t loaded.

They stared at the villain. The villain stared back. For a moment, all was deathly quiet and still.

The moment broke, and with an audible groan of frustration, the cat burglar (ha!) lifted two fists and smashed the first tier of the display case. Voyd and Brick both rushed into the room through Voyd’s portal, and as their feet touched the laser grid, the room was swamped with blinding light, with a shrill alarm pounding harshly. Voyd wasn’t sure if it was her and Brick touching the lasers or the burglar smashing the glass that had caused the alarm to trigger, but at least the police would be coming promptly.

Before Brick and Voyd could reach her, the villain had smashed all the layers of glass, with apparent disregard for whether the alarm was triggered or not. With a quick deft movement, she reached through the smashed glass and grasped the God’s Eye diamond with both hands, removing it from the case as though it weighed no more than an apple, even though Voyd guessed from the sight of the gem that it must be heavier than a boulder.

With a backward glance at the approaching heroes, the masked villain began to speed across the room, evidently with the intent of exiting the building by smashing through the windows. Voyd created a portal next to Brick and another in front of the speeding villain, and Brick stepped through, standing intimidatingly in front of the burglar. Undeterred, the catlike evildoer jumped through the air, sailing straight over Brick’s head. Brick could only watch the villain’s arc in awe.

Voyd, acting through sheer instinct, tossed a void straight in the villain’s path, which swallowed her up and spat her out onto the ground in front of Brick. For a moment, the thief seemed too shocked to move, which gave Brick ample time to reach down and grab the woman by her arms, hauling her to her feet.

Voyd approached as Brick held the struggling would-be thief firmly in place. The God’s Eye diamond had slid from her grasp and fallen to the floor, where it rested, unmarked and sparkling gently. Voyd, with a grunt of effort—the thing weighed a metric ton—grabbed the diamond and placed it back in its broken case, as the robber watched with a growl of resentment.

“Who _are_ you?” Voyd asked curiously of the villain.

“I’m Jaguar,” answered the woman scornfully, with a European accent that Voyd couldn’t place.

With nary a word, Brick let go of the woman’s left arm and grasped her mask by one of its cat ears, pulling it off. A scowling face was revealed, the face of a pretty young woman with dark skin, narrowed brown eyes, and short cropped hair.

“Big mistake,” hissed Jaguar, and wrenched herself free of Brick’s one-handed grip. She immediately leapt high into the air again, the same as she’d done before. Voyd threw a portal into her path once again, but the woman was ready this time, and dodged it with grace by grabbing onto a nearby support beam and swinging away. She had smashed out the window and into the night before Voyd could toss another void at her.

“Wow! That’s a real supervillain!” Winston gushed.

Voyd would’ve glared at him, if he’d been there. “Not a good time!”

Police sirens were wailing in the distance, but Voyd knew that the cops would never catch Jaguar now. No, that was up to the supers.

“Screech!” she cried, pushing her headset closer to her mouth. “She’s escaping! We could use a little help!”

“I’m already on the case,” came Screech’s smooth, unflappable voice. “This one may be dressed all in black, but she’s certainly not invisible.”

“Let’s not smash through the window,” Voyd said to Brick. “If there’s one thing people hate, it’s property damage.” With that, she lifted her hands and created a portal through the wall where Jaguar had smashed free, and she and Brick ran through.

The art gallery was next to a public park of some kind, a forested area with trees, bushes and grass. Voyd and Brick scanned the ground and sky for signs of the villain. There appeared to be none, but Screech seemed to be tracking the thief closely. Voyd could see his avian form flying above the treetops, staring intently at something on the ground. Not hesitating any further, Voyd began to follow him with a sprint, Brick close behind.

“She’s fast, this one,” Screech commented. “But not fast enough for me.” With that, Voyd saw the owl-like super swoop toward the ground, and she lost sight of him. The sounds of a scuffle came over the headset, and Voyd began to run faster towards the spot where Screech had landed, hoping he’d be able to capture Jaguar. She couldn’t see him yet, but…

A horrible screech—Screech’s namesake, of course—screamed through the headset, causing Voyd to fall to her knees and grasp her head in pain. It was a few moments more before she was able to rise to her feet, groaning, her ears still ringing hard. She felt Brick’s concerned hand on her shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she groaned, though she wasn’t sure it was the true answer. “You?”

“Fine. Where is Screech?”

“I still can’t see him.”

“I’m not far from you,” Screech suddenly said through the headset, voice crackling with static. He sounded disoriented. “The enemy gave me quite the fight. I spooked her, but she managed to escape. She had some sort of strobe light that blinded my eyes, and when I gained my vision back, she had disappeared.”

“Which way did she head?” Voyd demanded urgently.

“South. Through the park.”

“We can still catch her yet! Brick, Screech, be careful of that light!” With that, Voyd threw a portal in front of herself and another far ahead, emerging fifty feet ahead in the park. She repeated this action, running through the portals, each time scanning the new area for signs of the villain. No luck.

Voyd was finally forced to stop when she emerged on the edge of a rushing river, taking her by surprise. She glanced across the river and was shocked to see the dark-suited Jaguar staring back at her.

“Stop chasing me,” the villain demanded loudly from across the water.

“Can’t. It’s kind of my job,” Voyd called back. Her stomach was aflutter with fear, but she was determined not to let the would-be thief get away unpunished.

“Great line. That was a great line,” Winston’s giddy voice sounded in her ears.

The thief stared at her for a moment more, then turned to continue her flight. Voyd immediately created two portals, one beside her and one in front of the villain across the river, and stepped through. Jaguar stopped hard in her tracks and immediately lifted a small flashlight-looking device, but Voyd was ready for it, shutting her eyes tightly against the flashing strobe light even as she gestured with her hand, creating a void under the villain’s feet.

She heard Jaguar scream as she fell, and more screaming from high above—this portal opened a hundred feet in the air. The strobe flashing stopped, and Voyd opened her eyes. The flashlight-thing was resting on the ground harmlessly. Nonetheless, Voyd kicked it hard into the river.

Long before Jaguar hit the ground, Voyd formed another portal under the villain, allowing Jaguar to emerge harmlessly, thunking to the ground right in front of her. Voyd floundered for a second, unsure of what to do—if Brick wasn’t strong enough to hold this villain, Voyd darn well wasn’t. “Sorry,” she admitted with honesty as she created yet another portal under the villain, causing her to once again emerge a hundred feet in the air. When she landed, the same portal was waiting for her in a loop. It would have to do until Brick and Screech arrived.

The third time she fell, the villain had grown used to it, and was more than ready to break free of her makeshift prison. Voyd watched as Jaguar, instead of simply falling helplessly, pressed some sort of button at her hip as she plummeted. At the bottoms of her black boots, something flared to life, rather like the heat mirages one sees on a particularly hot road in summer, only these gave off their own light. With a loud, deep hum, the villain stabilized in the air, hovering. She stared down at Voyd with hate in her eyes before making her escape through the air.

But by now, Screech had arrived, soaring above the treetops with his wings. This time, Voyd had enough sense to rip off her headset before Screech let loose his signature wail. Though she scrunched her eyes in pain, Jaguar managed to mostly ignore the screech and continue her flight through the air, but Voyd created a portal that led the villain to emerge on the ground—right in front of Brick, who was now waiting on the other side of the river. Brick once again captured the villain with two large hands wrapped around her torso; this time, the super wasn’t likely to let go.

Voyd made a portal for herself and stepped out just in front of the captured Jaguar, crossing her arms. Screech swooped down, regarding Jaguar with his terrifying owl’s smile and glowing orange eyes. Jaguar looked shaken at the sight.

By now, the police had arrived; in the distance through the trees, Voyd could see their blue and red lights flashing and hear them shouting. She said to Jaguar with a smile (she couldn’t help but be a _little_ prideful), “It’s curtains for you, thief.”

“Don’t bet on it,” sneered the villainess.

Screech leaned closer towards Jaguar. “Whichever unsavory characters you happen across in prison, please tell them the Soaring Six put you there,” he told her. His friendly tone only made the words more menacing.

The thief sounded genuinely confused. “What Soaring Six? I only see three of you. Can’t you people count?”

Voyd opened her mouth to respond, but the police had arrived by now, guns drawn and shouting orders. Before long, they’d taken the resentful Jaguar away in handcuffs, offering Voyd, Brick and Screech their hesitant thanks.

When the three returned to the display room to survey the damage, investigators were already cordoning off the area with crime-scene tape. Voyd was about to create a portal in the wall so they could leave the investigators to their work, but Winston’s voice interrupted. “See that mask on the floor? Think you could grab it for me?”

He was talking about Jaguar’s lost black mask, lying on the floor with one of the cat-ears torn slightly. Voyd obeyed and leaned down to pick it up, dusting glass fragments off the material. “Why do you want it?” she asked.

“Might be useful for study. Who knows what useful properties this material could have? We can maybe make something out of this tech. I’ll get Evelyn to take a look at it. I’m no good with that sciency stuff.”

Voyd couldn’t help but feel an involuntary pang of surprise at the casual mention of Evelyn Deavor, as she did every time Winston’s sister was mentioned. Which was often. Winston wasn’t shy about bringing up his sister’s name. He visited her in prison every chance he got, still consulted her about DevTech’s latest innovations and technologies, and campaigned hard for her release. As far as Voyd knew, Evelyn was still actively working for DevTech, still the unknown face behind its miraculous technology. Well—now that she was a criminal and terrorist, maybe not so unknown anymore.

“Okay,” she told Winston. “I’ll bring the mask over tomorrow.”

“No, no, no, don’t trouble yourself. I’ll come over to the Center. I’ve been meaning to introduce you heroes to someone, anyway. I’ll bring him over too.”

The police scanner at Voyd’s hip began to erupt with activity, and she stopped still, listening closely. She heard an address and several words of import. Fire. Blaze. Apartment. People trapped inside.

People trapped inside.

“Oh, no,” she whispered.

 Screech and Brick were looking at her with wide eyes. “I believe that’s quite near here,” said Screech.

“We’ve got to get over there!” Without hesitation, Voyd threw a portal into the glass-and-stone wall, running outside. She sprinted around the building until she reached the front steps, urgently feeling around for the invisible bike. Brick was much slower, and it took what felt like several agonizing minutes for the bulky super to rush over with the keys, clicking the button that turned the motorcycle visible once again.

They sped to the address, guided by the GPS on their dashboard that told them where to go—in a voice that was far, far calmer than Voyd felt. Stopping a diamond thief was one thing. The idea that innocent people were trapped in a burning building? Another level altogether. Voyd’s heart was pounding with anxiety, and her only thought was to get those people out and safe.

She decided this was enough of an emergency to call the entire team together. “He-Lectrix, Reflux, Krushauer, come to Ninety-Six Third Street. There’s a huge fire,” she urgently spoke into her headset. She heard the voices of the other heroes speaking in affirmation.

With Screech following overhead, the heroes reached the blazing apartment building in the heart of downtown New Urbem. Voyd’s heart rose into her throat as she observed the fire. It was intense, shooting through every window and lighting the whole street aglow. She couldn’t imagine how anyone could be left alive in there. Many people were standing on the street, some wrapped in blankets, some crying, some screaming that their family members were still inside the building. Firemen were attacking the blaze with hoses and water that seemed pathetic against the force of the fire.

“I think I can help,” Voyd said to her friends in a shaking voice. Brick and Screech were looking at the building helplessly, and she knew why. For all their powers, neither of them was invulnerable—neither of them had the equipment to deal with the smoke or the flames—and if they entered that building, they might not make it back out.

Voyd, on the other hand… If she got too overwhelmed by smoke or fire, she could just create a void and pop out. Voyd was the best chance for anybody left alive in that building. And she knew it.

Steeling herself with determination, Voyd ran toward the doors of the building.

She heard Brick cry out, “Wait!”, but she didn’t listen. She knew that if she hesitated, for every second she waited, another life might be lost.

Voyd pulled open the front door and stepped into the apartment’s lobby. Immediately choked with smoke and heat, she began to cough, her eyes stinging like mad. She spotted a nearby staircase and dashed for it, making her way upward into the inferno.

Creating portals to avoid the fire wherever she could, Voyd made her way through the first floor’s hallways. She continuously cried out, asking if anyone was there, if anyone needed help. On the first floor, no one answered, and her heart sank, wondering if someone had died in these apartments—or, even worse, if someone was still alive but just couldn’t answer her calls. But she couldn’t stop to look in every single apartment. She was fighting a losing battle with the smoke and the intense heat, and she had to act quickly to rescue as many as she could, _while_ she could.

On the second floor, no one answered her calls, either. By the time she reached the third, Voyd thought she might pass out. Flames licked through open apartment doors, getting dangerously close to her. At one point, a tongue of flame licked her arm, singeing her suit, and she yelled in pain, but still forged ahead.

Her foremost thought: _People aren’t going to die because I’m not there. Not again._

She heard something. A figment of her imagination, or a faint, faraway yell for help? She chose to believe it was the latter. Going as fast as she could, Voyd formed a portal in the nearby wall, entering the burning apartment.

“Hello? Hello?” she screamed, looking desperately around the burning living room.

“Help!” came the cry, and she knew she’d heard it this time. She pushed open a closet door and pulled out a coughing, crying little girl, perhaps five or six years old, wearing pigtails and clutching a doll to her chest.

Immediately, Voyd ran to a nearby window and shoved it open, creating a portal in the window and another on the ground outdoors. She pushed the little girl through unceremoniously, and was relieved to see her emerge safely on the concrete of the parking lot, coughing and choking, but looking all right. At least, she was safe.

As Voyd made her way upstairs, she repeated the process again and again, narrowly avoiding flames and continuously growing weaker from the smoke’s abuse of her lungs, but determined to get everyone who was still alive in this building out safe. She found two men on the fourth floor and helped them escape with a portal. There was a woman on the fifth floor, crying and badly burned, and Voyd pushed her outside with a portal too. By the time she reached the sixth floor, the heat was nearly unbearable, and she fell to her knees at the top of the stairs, coughing, hacking and feeling as though she might die. But Voyd forced herself to her feet and stumbled through the sixth floor, singlemindedness fueling her. _Not again not again not again_.

No one answered her calls there, and when she reached the bottom of the steps that led to the seventh floor, Voyd found she didn’t have the strength to keep going. She fell to the ground, struggling to push herself back to her feet. The orange light of flames lit every corner of her vision. Realizing she might genuinely die tonight, a spark of pure fear rose in her chest.

But she heard screams from above. There was somebody on floor seven.

Her desire to help was stronger than her fear, and more potent than her weakness. With a trembling hand, Voyd reached up, creating a portal below herself and one at the top of the stairs of the seventh floor. She fell, landing at the top of the stairs in a crumpled heap, and began to crawl, making her way toward the source of the screams.

With the help of her voids, she entered an apartment that was nearly nothing but cinders and ash. There, she found a burnt young man cowering in a corner, tears creating streaked lines down the soot on his face.

Pulling herself across the floor toward him, she extended a hand. “I can help you,” she rasped, voice smoke-choked. “Come on.”

The man, with panic in his eyes, reached out and took her hand. With her other, she reached out and made a blue-rimmed hole in the wall, and another on the ground for the man to safely walk through. Seeming crazed, the man immediately ran through, and not a second too soon: the portals vanished right afterward, with Voyd no longer having the power to sustain them.

She lay on the ground, knowing she might die. She didn’t even have the power to save herself anymore. Well, at least she would die helping people; she’d die knowing she hadn’t failed this time. She hoped the smoke got her before the fire did.

Eyes glancing upward from her position crumpled on the floor, she saw an owl-like face at the window, staring down at her with utmost concern. A moment later, an enormous crash sounded as a portion of the wall crushed into a compact mass of wrecked bricks and wires and insulation. Krushauer’s work. Screech swooped into the building through the hole, waving away the smoke to reach Voyd’s collapsed body. He hauled her to her feet, her limp arm over his shoulders, ready to fly her to safety.

“No…” she muttered. “There still might be people in here… Please…”

 “Voyd, you rescued them all. There was no one else in the building. They are all accounted for.”

“Really?”

“Really.” With that, Screech flew from the building, Voyd dangling at his side. He alighted on the ground beside the rest of the Soaring Six, who were standing a good distance away. Voyd was lowered to the ground, where she rested against the hard concrete, staring at the sky above and getting used to the idea of clean air again.

Her colleagues crowded around, concerned and terrified faces blocking her view of the stars. “Are you okay?” Brick asked.

She nodded, unable or unwilling to speak just yet.

“Your suit…” He-Lectrix’s voice trailed off.

Without looking, Voyd knew her costume was singed in places and torn in others. She could feel the wind blowing cool against her bare shoulder and patches on her arm as well. “I guess Galbaki isn’t all that,” she managed to breathlessly exhale.

Screech spoke up, a mixture of worry and anger. “Galbaki’s costumes are all fashion and no substance. They will not protect you. Deavor should have done more thorough research before deciding with whom to affiliate himself.”

Voyd knew Winston was probably still watching through the cams, but she had lost her headset somewhere along the way; if Deavor responded, she couldn’t hear him. “Not his fault,” she protested weakly.

She suddenly noticed one of their number was missing, wasn’t leaning over her along with the rest. “Where’s Reflux?”

“He went into the building to check for more survivors, just to make sure nobody was missed in there. Makes sense. He can put up with fire better than the rest of us,” He-Lectrix informed her.

“Oh. Good.”

Krushauer spoke up, stating a fact. “You shouldn’t have run in there like you did. You’re lucky the rest of us arrived in time to help. You could have died.”

Voyd’s immediate emotion was confusion that Krushauer was even bringing up this obvious fact. “So?”

“ _So_ …” Krushauer chuckled in disbelief and turned away.

“Yeah! So?” She pushed herself to a sitting position, waving off the worried hands of her colleagues, and stared at the blue-suited German super. Through coughs, she managed to state, “That’s our _job_. To put ourselves at risk for others. I was doing my job. I don’t know about you, but I love my job.”

Krushauer scoffed again, but didn’t offer a response.

Screech hesitantly said, “If I may… I tend to agree with Krushauer. Stopping villains, vandals and thieves is one matter, but running into a burning building is another entirely, in my humble opinion. It is especially noteworthy that none of our costumes, save for that of our eldest member, are built to withstand flames. We are not equipped to deal with such situations. Voyd, you are enormously brave, but you may have made a mistake.”

It hit Voyd like a train: she and her friends _weren’t_ equipped to handle fires. Or, for that matter, other natural disasters. Voyd could make a criminal’s bullet disappear into a portal or transport a thief wherever she wanted, but flames were a trickier villain, and tonight, she’d gone up against an enemy that she couldn’t beat. Maybe, despite all their gadgetry and official status, they were still second-rate supers after all.

But still, the blue-haired heroine protested: “If I hadn’t made that _mistake_ , all those people might be dead.” She gestured with a weak hand toward the victims of the fire she’d transported out of the building, soot-stained and burnt, the first of whom was being lifted by a stretcher into the back of an ambulance with lights flashing.

Krushauer made a _pssh_ sound. “And if _you_ had died in there, how many more people would have been killed in the future because you weren’t around to help? You need to know your limits.”

The ambulance pulled away, siren wailing. Voyd didn’t know what to say, only managing to choke out, “Should I not try to _save_ people? Isn’t that what I’m here for?” It was more a question to herself than to the others. Because she could see how Krushauer was right, and it stung badly. Inside of her heart, she would never allow herself to consider that there were some people she couldn’t save—or shouldn’t _try_ to save. Especially not after last night, when three had died because she hadn’t been there to fight off the evildoer that killed them. She’d rushed into that fire with one thought on her mind: _Not again._

Krushauer let out another scoff, a disdainful puff of air. “In my opinion, if you’re not equipped to handle the circumstances, no. You shouldn’t try to save people who you’re not sure you _can_ save. You’ll do more harm than good. Let someone more equipped go in first. Say, Reflux. You could have waited for him. He can handle fire and smoke. _You_ ,” he said pointedly, “can’t. As we learned well tonight.”

“But if I’d waited for Reflux—” Voyd objected, but broke off into a fit of coughing.

“Hold off. No time for arguing,” He-Lectrix interjected firmly. “Voyd, you need to rest. The rest of you, shut up and back off.”

Krushauer regarded He-Lectrix with cold, cold eyes. “Who gave you the authority to tell the rest of us to shut up?”

He-Lectrix looked unimpressed. “Nobody. But I think we can all democratically agree that it’s time for you to close your damn mouth.”

“What? You think I’m wrong?”

The thin super crossed his arms. “It’s not about right or wrong. You’re seriously going to pick a fight with Voyd when she’s just saved four lives? I didn’t see _you_ rushing into that building. This is no time to argue about philosophy or whatever you’re trying to do. Back off.”

Krushauer leaned forward slightly, an unnerving expression on his face. “You’re going to resort to low blows, are you? Now that I think of it, _you_ didn’t run into that building either. Did you?”

The two hothead supers stared at each other with narrowed eyes and He-Lectrix opened his mouth to respond, but Voyd butted in, the tension causing anxiety to erupt like a virus in her gut. “Both of you, stop! We’re a team. There’s no point in fighting like this.”

Before any further moves could be made, Reflux emerged from the burning building, an orange blob with a shock of white hair against the backdrop of the flames and rising heat. The old man approached the others, breathing hard, and stopped, leaning over with hands on knees in exhaustion. “Nobody else in there. Christ, that’s a mess. Haven’t seen a fire like that since the big war. I tell you—”

He cut himself off as he saw the looks on the faces of his superhero colleagues; the tension in the air was still palpable. “What did I miss?”

Voyd’s gaze snapped from He-Lectrix to Krushauer, waiting wide-eyed for one of them to make a move. He-Lectrix tended to fancy himself the leader of the team, while Krushauer didn’t always enjoy being told what to do. Not the prettiest combination. They’d had minor conflicts before, but this one felt different—it felt _worse_.  

It occurred to Voyd that she was (sort of, kind of, maybe, if you looked at it from a particular angle, perhaps, undecidedly, from a certain point of view) the de facto leader of the team. Maybe _she_ should step in and defuse this little scuffle once and for all. A terrifying prospect. But as she waffled indecisively, Krushauer ended the incident for her. “I’ve got better things to do,” he muttered with a dismissive half-smile. “Let’s get out of here. _Partner_.”

With that, the hero turned and sauntered confidently away, likely in the direction of his rendered-invisible bike.

He-Lectrix stared after him. “No way I’m getting on a bike with that guy right now. He’ll probably throw me off into a trash heap when nobody’s looking. I’m serious.”

“If you wish, I can fly. I have no need of the motorcycle with these on my back,” Screech pointed out, tapping his mechanical wings. “You can partner up with Reflux.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“What the hell was that all about? What did I miss? Somebody tell me what the hell I missed!” Reflux demanded, looking at each of his colleagues in turn. Voyd didn’t answer, only offered a smile that was more like a cringe. She didn’t want to be the one who did the explaining.

He-Lectrix let out a sharp, annoyed breath. “Nothing important. Let’s just get out of here. We’ve done all we can do.”

Voyd’s police scanner began to emit a Velcro strip of ripping static and noise. “All units, we have a large-scale robbery at the intersection of—”

“A robbery! You guys hear that?” Voyd demanded, tottering unsteadily to her feet; she would’ve tipped over if not for the balancing hand of Brick on her shoulders. “We’ve got to go stop—”

“Hold the hell on! _You’re_ not going anywhere.” This from He-Lectrix, who was giving her an incredulous look.

“But—”

“Voyd, my friend, I know you mean well, but by rights you should be in a hospital receiving oxygen through a little plastic mask at this very moment,” said Screech. “At the very least, go home and rest.”

“He is right,” came Brick’s low, accented drone. “You are not well. You should go to hospital.”

“I’m fine!” she insisted, even though she was not and she knew it. “Really, I’m okay to go!” The last few words came out as a raspy wheeze, and she found herself caught in a coughing fit again.

When she was done hacking her lungs out, she looked up at her friends sheepishly, who were all regarding her with knowing gazes. “Okay. Maybe I’m not _entirely_ fine. Per se.” With some hesitation and reluctance, she conceded, “You guys go and stop the robbers. I guess…I’ll head home and sleep.”

Voyd had left her civilian change of clothes back at the SJP, and she called a taxi to take her there. She sat exhaustedly in the passenger seat, watching the meter’s glowing red numbers slowly tick up and up with half-shut eyes, as the taxi driver chattered excitedly to her about how he couldn’t _believe_ it, he had a _superhero_ in his cab, a _real-live_ one, and could she _please_ show him her powers. Voyd raised a limp hand and made a portal in the air between them—just a very small one, no need to endanger their lives to show off—and the man gawked at it, only relenting when Voyd nervously asked him to please watch the road.

Despite her exhaustion and intermittent bouts of hacking, Voyd felt a bit of tired pride. And a little bit of perfunctory surprise, too. She’d probably never get over how weird it was that she could be _proud_ of her powers now, instead of shoving them down deep within her and forcibly repressing them. How weird it was that people… _wanted to see_.

And later, when she had retrieved her civilian clothes from the SJP, surreptitiously made her way home, and collapsed into bed, she stared up at the plaster ceiling and relived the events of that night. Though she was upset and a bit annoyed that Krushauer and He-Lectrix had argued, the events of the rest of the evening far overwhelmed the negatives. The people she’d saved! The villain she’d helped stop—wow, how thrilling that’d been! The images kept flashing back in her mind and she replayed them again and again. The fire, not so much, but capturing the Jaguar? A real live villain! Holy smokes!

It was a long time before Voyd was able to get to sleep, and when she did, she dreamed of derring-do and nothing else.


	8. I Know, Darling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edna is in this one.

“Oh, don’t worry about it. I’ll pay for everything.”

This was something Voyd was quite accustomed to hearing from Winston Deavor—so accustomed, in fact, that sometimes she just had to quite flatly turn him down. The billionaire threw money at the Soaring Six like rice at a wedding, and there were times when Voyd just felt plain _bad_ about accepting any more gifts. But, she supposed, having a wealthy benefactor wasn’t the worst thing in the world. It could be way worse. They could be flat broke.

This particular instance, it was 9:25 am on Monday morning—a little less than four hours before Voyd’s shift at Pawz-R-Us was set to begin—and Voyd was sitting on a couch in the common room of the SJP with her back to the window, hands clasped on knees, and staring up at Winston Deavor in abject embarrassment. She was wearing her suit, which didn’t look too hot. There were rips, tears, and burn marks peppering its fabric; her entire shoulder was bare. It was a mess.

Like most of the time, she half-heartedly tried to reject his expensive offer. “Oh, no, Mr. Deavor. You don’t have to—”

“ _Winston_ ,” interrupted the billionaire, who was wearing an impeccably-tailored burgundy suit. “For God’s sake. We’re friends!”

“Winston,” she conceded reluctantly. “You don’t have to pay. I’ll pay for repairs. I’ve got some money saved up, and I’ll ask the other Six, and they can help if they want. But I wouldn’t put you out like that. It’s not fair.”

“Put me out? No!” He sat down beside her, wearing an expression of utmost concern. “It’s my fault all this happened in the first place. I should’ve told Galbaki, ‘Now look, it doesn’t matter if it’s _pretty_ , it’s got to be _fireproof_.’ But to be honest, functionality was the last thing on my mind when I commissioned that suit. I was just thinking about how it’d look before the cameras. And for all his awards and accolades, Galbaki is foremost a fashion designer, not an engineer.” He looked off into the distance at something Voyd couldn’t see. “Now, if I had just asked Evelyn in the first place—”

“That’s okay, Mr. D—I mean Winston,” Voyd interrupted hurriedly, raising her hands. “I can just go to Edna.”

“Oh, of course. Edna Mode’s the best in the business. Everyone knows it. Including me, now that I’ve been schooled.” He offered a high-watt smile. “And you’re getting a brand-new suit courtesy of Edna, courtesy of _me_. I’ll pay for it. No buts, no objections, I won’t hear a word. It’s nothing. It’s pennies.”

Voyd didn’t really want a new suit—she wanted her old one repaired. She loved the colors, the style, everything, it was just _her_. But she knew well that there was no changing his mind, and she decided not just go ahead and accept the darn gift. Goodness knew it wasn’t the first and wouldn’t be the last. “Okay. Thank you so much, it’s really generous. Do you think we can go next week, or…?”

“Next week?” He dismissively waved an arm. “As if. We’re going today. Now. In half an hour.”

“In half an hour—!” Voyd gawked. She simply wasn’t ready—not to visit someone as awesome and legendary as Edna Mode. Her hair wasn’t done, her suit was an absolute mess, her makeup was probably sloppy—

“Yup! As soon as the others get here, we’ll all go. I booked the consultation first thing this morning. Usually it takes months to get a slot with her, but as soon as I dropped some names, we were in like Flynn. Edna’s pretty eager to meet you guys. Oh, and also—” He winked. “Money talks.”

Voyd sat helplessly, a potent cocktail of anxiety and excitement brewing in her stomach. She wasn’t ready to meet Edna, that was for sure, but she was darn well excited for it.

As soon as the other Soaring Six had arrived, Winston loaded them all into his luxurious private jet, which was parked on top of the SJP—which, if this hasn’t been mentioned before, contained a large landing strip for helicopters and planes alike. Edna’s home was located in the Metroville area, which was a few hours away from New Urbem by car, but a much shorter trip by plane. The private jet featured a much more comfortable interior than a regular plane, with a living room-like interior, lux padded seats, and even a couch.

They lifted off as soon as Winston gave the order, and Voyd stared out the plane window, watching the city and country go rushing by beneath her, first a motley assortment of gleaming skyscrapers, then a patchwork quilt of green fields. She had often thought about—but never dreamed of _actually_ —asking her idol Elastigirl to teach her how to fly. The golden-age heroine was well-known to be a master pilot, and Voyd had idolized her flying skills for years. But the mother-of-three probably didn’t have much time for her, and Voyd didn’t want to bother her hero with silly stuff like that, didn’t want to waste her time. No, it would stay as a pipe dream forever, probably.

She felt the thump of someone sitting down beside her. “ _Someone’s_ looking fantastic.” It was He-Lectrix, and he was joking.

She let out a tired laugh. “Yeah, I’m not looking my best today. But hopefully we can fix that.”

“Going to see Edna, huh? Maybe she’ll give us all matching suits. Wouldn’t that be great?”

“Oh my gosh, I hope not. I already feel bad enough about making Winston pay for _one_.”

“Oh, c’mon. Don’t feel bad about that. And you’re not _making_ him, either. He loves giving money away. It’s his main hobby.”

“I know, but…” Voyd sighed and leaned back in her seat. “I do feel bad about the idea of a citizen paying for all our stuff. Well, most of our stuff.”

“All our _good_ stuff,” He-Lectrix amended, and Voyd laughed.

“Yeah, all our good stuff. I just feel a little weird about it. He’s way too generous, and even though he’s giving all this stuff away freely, I just feel like we’re… stealing. Somehow.”

He-Lectrix paused, seeming to think. Then he said, “You do know that if the government turns us into employees, every single taxpayer in the country will be paying for our stuff?”

Voyd was a little taken aback. She honestly hadn’t thought of it like that, but it seemed so obvious now. “That’s true.”

“Yeah. So don’t feel bad now. If we get hired, citizens will be paying _billions_ for our hero work. This?” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at Winston, who was laughing and joking with Screech a little bit away on the sofa. “This is nothing.”

“Yeah, I guess. You’re totally right.” Deciding to change the subject, she commented, “Sorry you didn’t get to… you know, _zap_ last night. We took down an awesome villain. I know you would’ve wanted to be a part of that.”

The masked super made a dismissive noise. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll get my chance. We all will someday.” He added, “But I wasn’t there for the action. What exactly went down?”

Excited for the chance to describe the feats of derring-do they’d performed last night, Voyd animatedly described a play-by-play of their chase and capture of Jaguar, with He-Lectrix occasionally interrupting to ask questions or make comments. By the time she was halfway through, Winston had come over and was sitting opposite them, leaning forward with a huge smile on his face and listening intently. Even though he’d seen the whole thing through the body cams, it seemed Winston couldn’t get enough of the superhero action.

“…and that’s when Screech says, ‘When you get to prison, tell them the Soaring Six put you there,’” she expressed, grinning at the memory.

“Don’t forget what _she_ said in response,” Screech interjected from across the aisle. “I found it quite amusing, personally.”

“Oh, oh yeah! She said… ahem…” When Voyd began saying the words, Winston joined in, saying them along with her. “’Soaring Six? There’s only three of you. Can’t you people count?’” Voyd bubbled into laughter at the memory, and Winston guffawed; even He-Lectrix snickered.

“She certainly had a valid point,” commented Screech.

“So, what will happen to her?” Voyd asked nobody in particular, looking around the cabin in turn at each of her co-passengers. “Jaguar, I mean. The police didn’t tell us what she was going to be charged with.”

“She’ll go to prison, for sure,” replied Winston, taking a sip of the flute of champagne that rested on a small table beside him.

“For how long?”

Screech spoke up. “With what this particular villain attempted to accomplish, I would not be surprised if she spent five years behind bars. If her lawyer manages to broker a good deal.”

But just at this moment, their conversation was interrupted when Winston looked out the window. “Oh, look! We’re almost there.”

The Soaring Six clambered to the windows, each peering out at the ground below. Forming below them was a massive mansion, a marvel of square glass-and-chrome boxes piled one atop the other. It featured a huge open courtyard with a huge fountain and a gigantic statue, and—as Voyd could now see—a long landing strip for planes that rested beside the mansion.

The private Deavor plane sailed in for an easy landing along this strip, and as it pulled to a halt, engines whirring, Voyd clambered to the front of the jet, eager to be the first to disembark. With nervousness setting butterflies aflutter in her, she watched as the plane’s door was opened and its staircase lowered to the concrete below.

On the ground, waiting for them, was Edna Mode. The diminutive, bespectacled fashion designer watched with seeming annoyance-slash-disinterest as Voyd disembarked from the plane and stood before her, arms clasped at her front and bouncing slightly on her feet with utter anxiety, unsure of what to say. The designer was wearing a fashionable green silk kimono and, to Voyd’s slight surprise, held baby Jack-Jack Parr—clad in his red onesie—aloft with her left arm. The infant was almost half Edna’s size, but she seemed to lift him with ease. She regarded the heroes as they stepped out of the plane, along with Winston Deavor, who had donned a pair of round shades in the bright sun.

“Not that time is particularly important in the world of fashion, _dahling_ , but you _are_ late,” Edna informed Voyd.

Voyd squirmed. “Uh, sorry. We would’ve been here faster if we could’ve.”

“Eh. No matter. Come in, and we _must_ do something about that dreadful state you’re in.” With that, Edna turned on her heel and stalked away, shockingly quick for someone of such a height _and_ who was carrying a large, giggling baby. The others supers exchanged glances and then quickly followed her, along with Winston.

Heading up some impassively modern metal steps and entering into a door on the side of the building, the supers found themselves traversing a narrow hallway, led by Edna. On either side, square-shaped depressions marked the walls, in which impeccable super-suits of brilliant colors and beautiful designs were worn by confidently-posing black mannequins. Voyd looked at each in awe; every single one held her gaze. The other supers—even and especially Winston—were the same.

“Oh, I know that one!” exclaimed the now-childlike billionaire enthusiastically, pointing at a black, orange and red suit with a flame symbol emblazoned proudly on the front. “That was Fironic’s old costume!”

Edna glanced over her shoulder unflappably. “Yes. He looked fantastic in that suit. One of my favorite designs of my own. Then again,” she added with a small laugh, “I do not _have_ favorite designs that are not my own.”

“A-And that one—” Winston practically skipped ahead, skidding to a halt beside a blue hero costume, complete with headpiece and a fake blonde ponytail emerging from the top. “That was Blazestone’s!”

“Yes,” Edna said shortly. In her arms, baby Jack-Jack began to fuss, and Edna expertly whipped a compact mirror from some hidden pocket and used it to deflect a blast of laser energy into the ceiling, where it left a large burn mark. Everyone ducked, but Edna was entirely unfazed and simply kept talking as normal.

“That poor thing. When heroes were forced into the shadows, she came to me with her suit. Gave it back to me. Practically forced it into my hands. She said, ‘Edna, I simply cannot handle the temptation. You must take this from me before I wear it again.’ So, I took it away.” Edna tutted. “I suppose the lack of a costume didn’t stop her when Syndrome came knocking. If only it had.”

Screech, who seemed fascinated by the costumes on the mannequins, spoke up. “Excuse me, Ms. Mode—if I may—what are the modifications associated with this particular suit?”

Edna turned and saw that the owl-like super was pointing at a mannequin wearing a purple-and-yellow suit. Nothing was all that remarkable about the outfit, except that protruding from its back were a pair of beautiful, huge bird-like wings with brown-and-white feathers. The wings were unable to extend fully in the small space allotted to them, and they folded up against the side of the wall. Screech was staring, enamored.

Edna’s eyes flashed from Screech to the suit and she smiled slightly. “That one, _dahling_ , would have belonged to Eagleman. Reasonably intelligent, bird powers, decent man. He came to me asking for a suit, saying he wants to be a super. So I whip up this beautiful costume, custom-designed to be as aerodynamic as possible, to be insulating against the cold when he flies high in the air, and even to camouflage him against the clouds. Then, a month later, Eagleman decides that, no, he wants to be a _delicatessen manager_.” The disdain oozed from every syllable of the designer’s mysteriously-accented voice. “There is a reason you’ve never heard of him, _dahling_.”

“So what happened to him?” asked Voyd.

Edna shrugged with half-lidded eyes suggesting disinterest. “I suppose he is still a delicatessen manager today. The suit never went to any use. Eagleman joined the hoi polloi, and I was allowed to keep a very pretty, very expensive piece of wall art. Well, shall we continue?”

The Soaring Six kept going down the hallway, admiring the costumes lined up along the walls; Screech stayed behind a moment to stare at the Eagleman costume and its gorgeous wings before following the rest.

They emerged into Edna’s breathtaking courtyard. A white granite floor, smooth and cold even through Voyd’s boots, led towards a small gathering area with modern black-and-red chairs and a minimalist circular black table in the middle. Beyond that, there was a gigantic fountain, a brass sculpture in the shape of a man holding a spear, from whose shoulders water cascaded—rather like a cape—into a shallow pool below. The sky was blue and nearly cloudless above them; it was a beautiful day, and summer was just starting to give way into cooler autumn.

There were only four chairs around the table, and seven guests to seat. “Sit, sit,” the designer commanded—this order seeming aimed directly at Voyd—and Voyd obeyed, sitting delicately upon one of the red chairs. Winston and Reflux took two of the other seats, leaving one empty for Edna. The rest of the supers remained standing, and Edna put baby Jack-Jack down in a nearby baby pen filled with toys and blankets—the only thing in the courtyard that didn’t seem cool, sterile and intimidating.

Edna turned towards the supers, a mischievous gleam in her eyes. “You all can have no inkling of how much it delights me that you’re back in the public sphere again. No longer must I suffer, designing soulless garb for models and…” She spoke the next word like a curse. “ _Film_. I can finally do what I was meant to do. I can make art with a purpose. I can design for the gods once more.” The wide smile on the designer’s face was a little unsettling.

“So, you came here for repairs, yes?” Edna situated herself beside Voyd—even though Edna was standing and Voyd sitting, she still wasn’t as tall—and began to poke and prod at the damaged suit, squinting and making small noises of disapproval as she pinched the fabric in her hand. “What did you _do_ to this suit?” she finally asked, eyes narrowed.

“I just…” Voyd helplessly shrugged, red with embarrassment to be examined by Edna Mode herself like this. “It was an apartment fire.”

“An apartment fire? _Tch_. I would have guessed you had visited the surface of the sun. But this is not one of my designs…” Edna reached into a pocket on her kimono and produced a magnifying glass. Pinching a piece of fabric on Voyd’s arm and pulling it out to more closely examine it, Edna stared down through the magnifying glass at the material for quite a while.

No one said anything, nobody dared breathe.

Finally, Edna let the fabric snap back into place and regarded Voyd with icy black eyes that were like slits. “This is Galbaki’s work,” said the designer; she seemed to be waiting for Voyd to confirm or deny it. She said _Galbaki’s work_ in a similar fashion to how someone else might have said _Satan's work_.

Voyd cringed as she said, “It’s true...?”, phrasing the answer more like a question.

Winston piped up. “Yes, that’s one of Galbaki’s designs. I com—”

Edna’s hand jerked up, a clear _Shut up_ sign, without even looking over her shoulder. Winston shut up.

“This suit is wretched,” Edna proclaimed, staring at Voyd’s costume as though it were something she’d found on the bottom of her shoe after wading through a public sewer. “Absolutely dreadful. The colors are outrageous. The fabric is cheap. The design offers no practical protection whatsoever. I wouldn’t dress a dog in this rubbish. But then again, I would expect nothing less from Galbaki, the biggest hack in the industry. Knowing that buffoon, he is probably designing a line of doggy clothes based on this outfit even as we speak.”

After a moment of silence, a stinging Voyd ventured to speak. “Okay, but do you think you could repair it…?”

If possible, Edna’s eyes narrowed even further. “Repair it,” she repeated, as if Voyd had just said _, Murder a litter of puppies_.  

“Yes. If you don’t mind…” Voyd trailed off, offering a hesitant, wavering smile in hopes of supplication.

Edna stared into Voyd’s eyes for a moment more, piercing her soul. “I can repair this hobo suit if you wish,” said the designer contemptuously, “but it would be a colossal waste of my talents and time. I do not use these cheap materials of Galbaki’s. I would have to have them imported from Europe or wherever he gets them. And then I would have to mimic his lazy, pointless style of designing. It would be torture for an artist such as myself.”

“But you _can_ do it,” Voyd falteringly squeaked.

Anger suddenly dissipating into thin air, Edna began to patter away, hands clasped behind her back and looking entirely indifferent. “Of course I can do it. For a fee. But I insist upon designing a new costume for you as well, my dear. You simply cannot engage in hero work dressed in this detritus. It is an embarrassment to all your peers.”

“Uh, okay. Thanks…” Voyd wasn’t sure whether to feel humiliated or flattered. Both. Both is good.

Without warning, Edna stopped mid-stride. Her head snapped to the side, eyes fixing with the precision of laser beams upon Reflux; the elderly super was sitting in one of the red chairs, admiring the tall fountain-statue, with his shriveled legs not even touching the ground.

“What is that,” said Edna.

Reflux looked at her in confusion. “Huh? I don’t—”

“Get up, old man. Get on your feet. Up up up.”

Without another word of protest, the befuddled senior citizen hopped off the chair, standing on his feet. Edna circled him like a predator stalking a rabbit. She produced a pencil from one of her pockets and used it to gingerly lift the shiny, grey sheet of cloth that dangled from his back.

“Is this a cape? Why am I asking you this? Of course it is a cape.” Without any further warning, Edna’s hand scrunched into the cape’s fabric and she ripped it from the super’s back in one clean tear.

Reflux yelped. “Hey!”

Businesslike, Edna went smoothly over to a nearby marble trash receptacle and threw the wadded-up cape into its depths, where it was consumed in a silent, dim flash of incinerating fire. “You are better without it, _dahling_ ,” she said calmly, dusting off her hands. “Trust me.”

Reflux sputtered loudly, pointing a shaking, twiglike finger. “But that! That was my! That was my! You can’t just!”

“Yes, yes, _dahling_.” Edna looked the elderly super up and down, examining his orange-and-pink costume. “The entire suit must go. It is a repulsive blasphemy against the eyes. But never fear. I will make you a new one. A better one.” The designer’s eyes lit up with an inner fire of creativity that both terrified and fascinated Voyd. “It will be red, the color of fire, not this hideous Pepto-Bismol color—where is my sketchbook?”

Voyd cast a quick glance around at her friends: Screech was inscrutable as always, Krushauer and He-Lectrix (who were keeping their distance from one another) both looked quite amused at the happenings, Brick seemed rather bewildered, Reflux was embroiled in shock and anger, and Winston didn’t seem too fazed one way or the other.

Edna waved her hands irritably in the air. “Never mind my sketchbook. The hounds of inspiration shall attack me later on, I’m sure. Come back in a week. I will have beautiful, functional suits waiting for you. With no capes. Now go. Get out of my house.” With that, she retrieved Jack-Jack from his playpen and, holding the gurgling baby securely over one shoulder, went towards the nearby metal stairs, evidently meaning to disappear in the upper level of the mansion.

Winston spoke up at this moment. “There’s still the matter of payment,” he called after Edna. “I’ll pay for everything, of course, out of pocket. Just name your price and I’ll write up a cheque right now.”

Edna turned to face him. “There is no need for all this. Your man Dicker spoke to me earlier today and informed me that hero costumes are to be financed by the NSA from now on. He will be footing the bill for my services.”

“What?” almost all the Soaring Six demanded in a chorus.

“Yes. Do not worry about money. Pay it no mind. Now get out. You must leave me to my work. Leave the hobo suit lying around somewhere; I will retrieve it when I am in the mood.” With that, the designer began to make her way towards the stairs again, but only after deflecting one more green laser blast from the giggling baby in her arms, which bounced off her compact mirror and emanated into the sky.

Voyd suddenly remembered something she’d resolved to do before she left the SJP. Getting quickly to her feet, she called, “Excuse me! Ms. Mode?”

Edna turned again. “What?”

Voyd was struck with terror about the idea of actually talking to Edna, but she mustered up the courage and stood straight. “You probably heard about an attack that took place on Saturday night. The attackers wore high-end super suits. Do you think you could identify them?”

Edna considered it. “If I designed the suits, most definitely. If not, it will be a trickier task. But do you have images of these costumes?”

From a well-hidden pocket on her hip, Voyd retrieved a folded-up, grainy photograph of the two villains who’d attacked the mall: the clearest security footage they had. She approached Edna and unfolded the picture, displaying it to the petite designer. “These are them. The older one doesn’t have any superpowers. The younger one does. If that helps.”

Edna only looked at the photograph for a moment before shaking her head. “This is not my work. The suits are indeed high-end, but I did not design them. Furthermore, I can’t tell you who did. This work is totally unfamiliar to me.”

Feeling a little disappointed, Voyd re-folded the photo. “It’s okay. Thanks for trying.”

“Hmm. Are you worried these villains may strike again?”

“Uh…” She was terrified, almost every single waking moment. “It’s a possibility,” she admitted.

Edna regarded her for a long moment; Jack-Jack pointed at a bird flying overhead and laughed happily. A blast of green energy shot into the sky and the bird squawked and fell. Voyd winced.

Edna said, “Since this is the case, I will have your new suits ready in three days. I will work through the night. We cannot have the city in danger simply because that rat Galbaki is incapable of fabricating something useful.”

Voyd hoped this included her original suit, too. “Thank you so much. We’re so grateful for all your help.”

“I know, _dahling_ ,” said the designer dismissively. “You may show yourselves out.” With that, Edna left, heading up the stairs towards the balcony above with the giggling baby securely held on her hip.

With Edna gone, Voyd turned to her friends, smiling awkwardly. “Anyone got a change of clothes?”

 

Not long afterward, Voyd was dressed in an ill-fitting moth-eaten tuxedo they’d found on the jet, her suit had been left behind at Edna’s, and the team was flying back home. The tuxedo was clearly tailored to a woman—despite the fact that it didn’t fit that well on Voyd—and Voyd felt desperately uncomfortable, pulling at the sleeves and itching at the collar incessantly.

It wasn’t that she didn’t like being dressed in a tux—any other time, she would’ve been drooling at the idea—but she was reasonably sure this particular tux had once belonged to the villainess Evelyn Deavor, and the idea of wearing an outfit that Evelyn had once worn made Voyd more than a little uncomfortable.

“Hey, Mr.—I mean Winston,” she awkwardly called over to the billionaire, who was currently laughing with Screech over a bottle of 1939 Château Roux. “Whose tux was this, exactly?”

Wiping a tear from his eye over whatever hilarious thing he and Screech had been discussing, Winston shrugged. “Oh—Evelyn, probably. I don’t know.”

That was reassuring. Still, it was slightly better than going home naked.

“That reminds me.” Winston glanced at the silver Rolex that glimmered on his wrist. “If we land when I think we’re going to land, I’ll only be a _little_ late for my meeting.”

“Which meeting is this?” inquired Screech.

“With Evelyn. I visit her at the penitentiary once a week. Today’s our day.”

Winston truly hadn’t given up on his sister, despite her deeds. Voyd thought it was pretty heartwarming, but at the same time, she was on-edge about what would happen if Evelyn came out from prison. Internally—though she’d never say it out loud, didn’t want to hurt Winston’s feelings—she kind of hoped Evelyn was never released.

Voyd had flashbacks of the out-of-control _Everjust_ barreling towards New Urbem at a hundred and fifty miles per hour, the gigantic yacht on-course to kill hundreds of innocents, all because Evelyn didn’t like superheroes. And _she_ would take part of the blame. If Evelyn had succeeded, Voyd and her friends would be the ones in jail right now. Or dead, killed in the ensuing explosion caused by the ship’s mammoth fuel tank.

And if Evelyn ever got out… what then? Who was to guarantee that she wouldn’t try more of the same? Thinking about this made Voyd shiver in the tuxedo; it felt menacing against her skin.

Winston saw Voyd’s reaction, even though she hadn’t consciously _tried_ to react. The billionaire’s expression didn’t change. “It’s okay to think whatever you want to think about Evelyn. I totally understand. She did some terrible things. But you’ve got to understand, she’s still my sister. We’re all we’ve got. And I know, deep down in there, there’s a genuinely good person. She’s learned. She’s changed.”

Voyd doubted it, but she really didn’t want to be rude. “I guess people _can_ change,” she allowed.

“You bet they can. And as soon as she gets out of prison, I’m dragging us both to family therapy. We should’ve done this a decade ago.” He clapped his hands together determinatedly. “No more excuses.”

Voyd admired Winston’s optimism, and she thought about how great it would be if Evelyn _did_ change for the better. She still doubted it would ever happen, but still, it was a nice pipe dream.

He-Lectrix, who was sitting in a plush leather chair with feet propped up, spoke, sounding cynical. “You really think family therapy can fix all your sister’s… _quirks_?”

“No,” Winston admitted, shrugging. “Not necessarily. But it’s never too late to try.”

Krushauer, ever one to speak his mind, offered his own opinion. The hero, who seemed to love windows, was sitting by one of the jet’s, staring out onto the ground far below as it rushed by. “If you ask me, people who commit crimes like hers should never be released. She could have killed thousands.”

Voyd winced, hoping Winston wasn’t offended, but he didn’t seem to be. “Lots of people think that. I don’t blame them. In fact, if she was anyone else, I might _agree_ with them. But we don’t get to pick our family.”

Screech piped up. “If I may offer my own opinion, I think it’s delightful that you remain dedicated to your sister. It shows true character. Surely, abandoning her is a less-savoury moral alternative.”

“But I wonder what happen if Evelyn gets out of jail,” Brick said quietly and thoughtfully.

“Nothing!” insisted Winston. “Nothing will happen. Trust me. I’ll keep my eye on her.”

“But will that be enough?” Krushauer asked pointedly, bitingly.

Winston looked at him with a clear, even gaze. “I’m optimistic.”

The skeptical Krushauer shook his head very slightly, but said no more.

Voyd cleared her throat and quickly changed the subject. “Thanks for offering to pay for our suits and everything, Winston. It’s really nice of you. You do so much for us.” It was partially a genuine thanks to Winston, and partially a warning to her friends, to the tune of: Please, _please_ , don’t alienate this guy.

“Oh, don’t think anything of it,” replied the billionaire with a smile. “I just love seeing you guys back in action again! Y’know, I should hire somebody to write theme songs for all of you. Most supers had ’em back in the day. I can hear it now.” He started to hum a simple tune. “ _The Soaring Six, the Soaring Six, they’re cooler than a_ … no, that doesn’t rhyme… I should leave this stuff to the professionals, huh?”

At the mention of super theme songs, Voyd could already hear Elastigirl’s theme tune echoing around in her head, and she cracked a wide, unconscious smile just thinking about it. She burst out: “How about this? _The Soaring Six, the Soaring Six, if you’re in trouble or in a fix, they’ll swoop right in and they’ll_ …” She trailed off, losing steam. “I can’t think of the rest!” she admitted.

He-Lectrix interjected. “Hey, what about…”

For the rest of the plane ride, the supers and Winston worked on lyrics for their potential theme tune. By the time they landed back at the SJP, they’d come up with a four-verse song that might be considered potentially not unlistenable, if one examined it with a certain attitude. Winston remained on the plane as the Soaring Six disembarked onto the roof. “I’m just going to fly to the penitentiary. Saves time!” he explained. “See you guys later!”

Voyd was the last to leave the plane, but just before she was about to step onto the staircase that led to the outside, she heard Winston calling over the roar of the plane’s still-running engines. “Wait a sec!”

She turned back, looking quizzically at him.

“Remember I said I had someone I wanted you to meet?”

“Yeah!”

“He’s busy right now, but I’d like to introduce you to him! Preferably in the next few days! How’s that sound?”

Voyd felt a little apprehensive, hoping that Winston wasn’t trying to set her up with somebody. She politely but nervously inquired, “You mean like a _date_ , or…?”

“Oh!” He chuckled. “Hell, no! I want to introduce him to all of you—the whole team! He’s an engineer with DevTech, and he has some really neat technology designs that I think would suit you guys. The NSA’s thinking about hiring him. It’s not a date. Don’t worry. Sound okay?”

Relieved, she replied, “Yeah, that sounds awesome!”

“Fantastic! I’ll set that up soon! See ya! Oh, by the way,” he added just before she left, “don’t worry about that tux. It’s yours if you want it. I sure don’t need it.”

Voyd _didn’t_ want it, but she was too nice to outright tell Winston that. With a wave goodbye, she disembarked from the jet and went across the roof, following the other heroes down a set of stairs that led to a side entrance to the SJP. As she did, she heard the roar of engines as Winston’s plane took off, heading to New Urbem Women’s Penitentiary to visit his delinquent sister.  

Not long after, Voyd had peeled off the existentially uncomfortable tuxedo and put on a spare pair of clothes she kept in the closet of one of the bedrooms in the SJP: a simple set of jeans and a black shirt. It was still about forty-five minutes before she was due to start her shift at the pet store, and she had some time to kill.

Restless, she headed to the gym, where she found He-Lectrix practicing his powers on some of the geometric foam-ish dummies he’d placed in a row in the middle of the gym. The sound of zapping echoed around the gym as blue lightning blasted from the hero’s gloved hands, hitting the dummies with the force of a truck. One by one, he blasted them backwards; even though they absorbed his energy, they were nonetheless each blown across the gym, smacking against the opposite wall and bouncing back, sliding partway back across the gym towards the hero.

Even as he practiced, He-Lectrix acknowledged Voyd. “Good trip, huh?”

“Yeah! I’m glad we got to meet Edna. Even if she was a little, uh…” What was the right word? “Intense.”

He-Lectrix blasted the last dummy across the gym with his electricity and turned to face Voyd with a half-smile. “That’s the word. Intense. She really went in on your costume, huh?”

“Yeah… I just hope she doesn’t throw it in the trash or anything.”

“Speaking of costumes, what are you gonna do with that tux?” he asked pointedly.

He-Lectrix was pretty perceptive; of course he’d realize she was uncomfortable with the tuxedo. She waffled, shrugging her shoulders awkwardly. “I mean… I would feel bad just throwing it out. It’s a nice outfit, and it’s probably pretty expensive. I guess I’ll just give it to charity.”

“But you wouldn’t even think of keeping it, huh?” He gave a wry, knowing smile. “I get it.”

The question came out of her before she was even sure she wanted to ask it. “He-Lectrix, do you think people can change?”

“You mean, do I think Evelyn Deavor could change?”

“Well, not just her, I mean people in general. Once bad, always bad—that kind of thing. Do you think people are always just going to be who they are, or can somebody become a different person?”

“Yeah,” he responded. “I think they can. I think it happens all the time. Her, though? I doubt it. She’s got her core beliefs, and I don’t think she’s the kind of person who gives up her principles easily.”

“Winston seems to think she could change, that she _has_ changed. He knows her better than all of us.”

“Winston is way more of an optimist than he should be. In my opinion, of course. I don’t want to be doom-and-gloom, but I think you’ve got more chance of convincing the sun to not be hot than you’ve got a chance of convincing that woman not to hate heroes with a passion.” He lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “But I guess it could happen. Who knows? You’re right. He does know her. What do _you_ think about it, though?”

She was a little taken aback. “You mean, do I think people can change?”

“Yeah. Do you?”

She had to think about it. Her optimistic side—the happy, roses-and-unicorns-and-rainbows side of her—wanted to say absolutely yes. The rest wanted to say: Tread cautiously.

“I think so,” she finally said. “Yeah, I think they can. If enough happens in their lives to shift them, to convince them they were wrong, then yeah. They can change.”

“I hope you’re right,” said He-Lectrix. “But still. You won’t wear the tux.”

The question jabbed at her for reasons she couldn’t explain. “That’s mostly just because it fits like a potato sack,” she joked, trying to lighten the mood.

The other super laughed. "Yeah, there's that too. But hey, I bet Edna could tailor it for you."

"Oh, my gosh, I don't think I'd dare to ask her for any more help after today. Especially about something unimportant like that. Non-super-related, I mean. It would probably make her mad!"

"Even now that the government's paying for everything?"

Remembering the wintry fury in the designer's eyes when she'd confronted Voyd about her suit being made by Galbaki, Voyd nearly shuddered. "Nope. I'd hate to get on her bad side."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I totally didn't end the plane scene there because I couldn't think of lyrics or anything. And the last line totally isn't foreshadowing or anything. Nope.
> 
> Thank you SO MUCH for reading this and thank everyone for their kind comments!!! They really make my day! I hope you enjoyed this chapter! :)


	9. The Plunge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We get a glimpse into Voyd's work; the wannabe supers have some fun and have a talk.

Snip, snip, went the scissors. Karen closed one eye and squinted as she attempted to get an even clip on the particularly fluffy caramel-colored Pomeranian on whom she was currently working. The sweet little dog—his name was Rufus—was sitting still and quiet on the metal table, which she’d covered with a pink blanket to make things a little warmer for her clients.

“You’re a very good boy. The best boy,” Karen cooed automatically and distractedly as she clipped a single hair. Then another. When she was done with Rufus, he’d be the most gorgeous boy in all of North America.

One more snip, and… “Done,” she proclaimed proudly as she stood to her full height—wincing as her back cracked; she’d been bent over the dog for the better part of an hour—and surveyed her work. The very good boy beamed up at her, tail swishing. She beamed back. He was immaculate.

“You’re perfect!” Careful to put the scissors down beforehand, Karen leaned down and gave Rufus a big hug, laughing as his tongue swished across her cheek. “Will Daisy ever be glad to see you looking all fresh and handsome! Yes she will! Yes she will!”

With the fluorescent lights flickering artificially above her, and the smell of wet dog—which, however much she loved dogs, was not pleasant—in her nose, Karen glanced at the clock which ticked on the nearby wall, wondering when her shift would end. To her surprise, the day had flown by, and it was nearly 4 pm.

Nearby, her coworker Amy had a large, rather uncooperative Shetland Sheepdog in the metal bathtub and was currently scrubbing him clean with doggy shampoo, which the dog was clearly not enjoying. “You done?” asked Amy, voice calm and collected despite her unhappy customer.

“Yup!” Picking up Rufus, Karen brought the handsome boy over where Amy could see him, for her coworker’s inspection.

“Ah, yes. He’ll be the talk of the town. A very dapper boy.”

“That’s what I thought! He needs his own little outfit! Like, a suit!”

“You’d better go give him back to Daisy. You know how nervous she gets when they’re apart for long.”

“Oh, yeah.” Karen did know this, and knew it well; Daisy and Rufus were repeat customers. Feeling a little guilty, she left the small grooming area and went outside to the main store area of Pawz-R-Us, New Urbem’s finest pet supply outlet and grooming studio, or so the owners would have you believe.

Black-haired Daisy, dressed in a colorful floral sundress and flats, was leaning against a wall display of soft chewy toys, biting her nails and looking distracted. As soon as she saw Karen approaching with Rufus in her arms, Daisy brightened like the sun emerging from behind a cloud. “My baby!” she cried as she took the dog from Karen and cradled him. “And look how handsome!”

Daisy was a girl around Karen’s age, and, as mentioned, she was a repeat customer, bringing Rufus in every two weeks for his bi-monthly haircut. She was a little anxiety-prone, but she was nice as anything, and smart, and loved animals, and she was absolutely drop-dead gorgeous. To the point where Karen’s heart had skipped around 10 consecutive beats the first time she’d seen her. It had since gotten better, but not by much.

When Karen had asked Elastigirl to help her balance life and hero work, it was Daisy’s face that had been flashing through her mind. She didn’t know the customer that well, but she had crazy fantasies of asking Daisy out on a date. And she had even more ridiculous fantasies of Daisy saying yes.

But still. Karen would probably never end up doing it. For one thing, she was too darn shy. For another thing, she didn’t really have the time for… well, anything, besides regular work and hero work and sleeping and the occasional snack. For a third thing, she was still unsure of how to navigate being a hero and having a _life._

Going out on a date with someone who didn’t have superpowers, with someone who didn’t know that there was a _Voyd_ as well as a _Karen_ , was all but unthinkable. It was incomprehensible. What if something happened—what exactly, Karen couldn’t imagine—and she was forced to show her powers before she was ready to tell her date about them? What then? What if her date didn’t like supers? If she was scared of them? If she just couldn’t understand? If they couldn’t make it work? What if Voyd was as scary and strange to her love interest as Karen had been all those years ago to her classmates?

What if Daisy got _hurt_ because of her?  

Daisy smiled her fifty-billion-watt, white-toothed smile at Karen. “Thank you so much! He looks beautiful! I mean, as always. I wouldn’t expect anything less from the goddess of grooming.”

Karen put aside all her dumb thoughts. It was hard to think of anything else when confronted with that smile. “It’s only _half_ me,” she said modestly. “You’ve got a very handsome boy on your hands. Doesn’t she, Rufus?”

Daisy booped her dog on the nose. “The most handsome boy in the whole city.” Without further warning, she plunged her hand into her sundress pocket and produced a $20 bill, which she thrust at Karen. “Here. A tip.”

Karen stared at the bill disconcertedly. “All that for me? But you already paid for the haircut…”

“C’mon, take it!” Daisy shook the bill impatiently. “It’s nothing! Just a little thanks for doing such a good job every time.”

For Karen, twenty bucks wasn’t nothing; it was another two meals she could eat without worrying about where the next one would come from. She hesitantly but gratefully took the bill and slipped it into her own pocket. “Thanks. I really mean it.”

“It’s nothing,” Daisy repeated. “They don’t pay you enough.”

For a moment there was awkward silence between them, each smiling at the other. A vague thought floated through Karen’s mind, telling her that if she wanted to ask Daisy out, this may be the best time to take the plunge.

She didn’t, though.

“Well,” said Daisy with a smile, “I’ve got to get home. I’ll see you in two weeks?”

“Absolutely,” Karen replied with her best customer-service voice. “We’ll see you then!”

“All right. Bye.” With that, Daisy and her dog left through the new-fangled automatic doors, which slid shut behind her with a swish. Karen watched her go, feeling slightly dejected.

Another day, another dollar.

After saying goodbye to Amy, Karen left the pet store and returned to her tiny apartment. In her bedroom, she stared into her tiny closet with frustration. Since her suit was out of commission—the only part she had left was the mask—she had to come up with something else to wear, something that would disguise her but also identify her as a super.

“I got nothing,” she said to herself out loud, throwing her hands in the air. “Leotard, leggings and underwear, maybe?”

Sad as it was, it looked like _this_ was the only viable option Karen could see. She’d look like a clown. But at least she’d look like a clown that was _trying_ to _pretend_ to look like a superhero.

She forewent the idea of wearing underwear outside her suit, which was too stupid even for this situation. Instead, Karen donned a blue leotard—why she even owned it, she didn’t know—with black leggings underneath, and sneakers completing the outfit. She examined herself in the full-length mirror in the corner, pursing her lips. She didn’t look much like a super, even when she put her mask on. But under the circumstances, it was the best she could do.

Voyd left through the back entrance of her apartment building—as always, so that no one (or, at least, as few people as possible) would see her emerging from her home dressed like a superhero. Although today, there might not be much danger if that happened. She trudged to the SJP down the sidewalks of New Urbem, feeling rather silly.

She smiled a little, as she sometimes did, upon seeing the large and architecturally-modern building at the top of the hill. The SJP was pretty awesome, and she was still in a little bit of awe that this cool place—sort of, kind of, vaguely—belonged to _her_. Well, her and her colleagues.

When she entered the common room, He-Lectrix and Brick were talking on the couch, looking engrossed in conversation. They looked up upon hearing the doors open. “Hi. Nice outfit,” He-Lectrix smirked.

“You look like ballet dancer,” Brick commented. “In third grade production of _Swan Lake_.”

“You’re being generous,” He-Lectrix disagreed. “I’d say first grade.”

“Where is your… What is word for fluffy thing that goes around waist?”

“Tutu,” He-Lectrix informed her.

“Yes. Where is your tutu?” Brick asked, deadpan.

“Shut up,” Voyd grumbled, although both of them knew she didn’t really mean it. “It was the best I could do under the circumstances.”

“Yeah, I get it,” He-Lectrix relented. “Your suit was pretty banged-up.”

“Yeah,” Voyd sighed, sinking down into a nearby chair. “I just hope Edna fixes it.”

“She said she would,” He-Lectrix pointed out. “She doesn’t really seem like the kind of person who breaks a promise.”

“Yeah, but she also called it a _hobo_ suit. What if I come back to her place, and she’s like, ‘Oh, that suit? I don’t know what happened to it. It got lost.’” Voyd mimicked Edna’s accent very badly. “She seems to hate Galbaki enough to do that. I mean, I don’t know her that well.”

“I do not think she would cheat you like this,” Brick said. “She said she fix suit. She fix suit. Simple.”

“Besides, she’s going to give you a new one. How awesome is that?” said He-Lectrix with a smile.

Voyd shook her head, biting her lip. “I don’t know…”

“What do you _mean_ , you don’t know?” the super demanded. “Edna Mode is gonna make you a costume and you’re lukewarm about it? C’mon! It’s a super’s dream.”

It was true. This _was_ a super’s dream, and Voyd didn’t know why the heck she wasn’t more excited. In fact, if Edna simply remade her old suit into a new one that looked just the same, but came with more protection and strength, Voyd would be just fine with it. But…

“She thought my old suit was ugly. I think she’s going to give me something that looks totally different. And I don’t really want that,” Voyd admitted. “I love my old suit. I love how it looks. I love my symbol. I love the colors. It’s so _me_. And I just don’t want her to change that…”

“Feeling nostalgic for your first super suit?” He-Lectrix guessed with a knowing smile.

“I don’t know if I can feel nostalgic for something I’ve only had a few months. But… yeah. That’s basically it.” She hesitated. “Do _you_ guys think my suit is ugly?”

He-Lectrix and Brick spoke as one: “No.”

“Really?” she asked with suspicious trepidation. “You’re sure? If Edna thinks it’s ugly, she’s got to be onto something.”

“I don’t think it’s ugly at all,” He-Lectrix asserted. “Looks great on you. Goes with your hair. What’s not to like?”

“Edna is artist,” Brick spoke up. “She look at everything with… what is word… critical eye. But sometimes, even artist can be wrong. Your suit is nice on you.”

Voyd felt some relief; she’d been retroactively embarrassed for herself, thinking she’d been going around New Urbem dressed in an ugly ‘hobo suit.’ Who’d want to think that? “Thanks, guys. That means a lot.”

She glanced around the empty room. “Where’s everyone else?”

“Krushauer and Screech are training in the gym,” He-Lectrix told her. “Wanna join them?”

She cracked a smile. “Yeah!”

 

Before they even entered the gym, the sounds of Krushauer and Screech’s training reached them, echoing around the halls of the gymnasium. When Voyd opened the doors, she saw that Krushauer was in one corner, practicing his powers on the geometric shapes that had been provided. The super reached out and curled his hand into a fist, and a triangle-shaped, extremely dense-looking block of foam-like material slowly crunched into a tiny ball. Krushauer smiled as he did it. If there was one thing this super liked, it was crushing things. As soon as he released his fist, the practice “dummy” sprung back into its original shape.

 Something more interesting was going on around the ceiling. On one wall, a projector was beaming holographic enemies into the air. “Villains” of various shapes and sizes, each a generic human figure dressed all in black, flitted around, hotly pursued by Screech. They were fast, but Screech was fast too: owl-like as always, he glided his way around with precision and grace. He pursued one enemy and reached out a hand, swiping it nimbly. The projector sensed that the enemy had been “caught,” and it immediately flickered out of view; Screech then wheeled around in the air and focused his attention on another hologram.

Krushauer and Screech both stopped when they heard the doors squeak open. Krushauer acknowledged his fellow supers with a nod of his head, then returned immediately to his crushing activities. Screech stopped still, hovering in the air and raising a hand in greeting.

Reflux was sitting in a folding chair in one corner, watching the proceedings. The elderly hero couldn’t do much in the way of practice—not here. Winston had promised to commission the design of a special practice area that Reflux could use, but until then, the old man’s magma powers would only damage the expensive gymnasium. He seemed content to observe, however.

Voyd looked around at her colleagues and opened her mouth to say something, but before she could make a sound, He-Lectrix spoke up. “Anyone want to play Capture the Flag?” he asked.

Voyd grinned. “You took the words right out of my mouth.”

 

The Soaring Six’s version of Capture the Flag was different from regular people’s, and a little more unfair. Everyone was—to a certain extent, and excluding Reflux—allowed to use their powers. Their “flag” was a clipping from a green old T-shirt of Voyd’s that lay in the middle of the gym floor. Their home bases were two of Krushauer’s practice dummies, each set up at one end of the gym floor. One team consisted of Voyd, He-Lectrix and Reflux; the other, Krushauer, Brick and Screech.

Voyd spilled the rack of basketballs onto the gym floor; they made the game a little more interesting. They all rolled and bounced with hollow sounds before settling one by one. She returned to her spot at one end of the gym alongside her team. “Everyone ready to go?” she asked.

Everyone nodded.

“Go!”

Each team rushed towards the “flag” in the middle of the floor. Screech, predictably, got there first, but Voyd tossed a portal in his way and he emerged in a far corner, where she could faintly hear him loudly curse. She giggled; she’d never heard him swear before. But she had bigger fish to fry. Krushauer had grabbed the flag and was running for his home base.

He-Lectrix aimed a jolt of electricity at Krushauer’s back, not enough to hurt, just enough to stun him. Krushauer yelled in surprise and dropped the scrap of cloth, but Brick, who was nearby, instantly grabbed it off the floor and made for their home base. Brick was pretty slow, and Voyd threw a portal into the air for her colleagues to give chase.

Before long, the game was really going, and Voyd was winded. Neither team could seem to get the flag back to their home base. Voyd was almost there at one point, running for their “home base” with the flag clutched tightly in her hand, but a basketball—courtesy of Krushauer’s telekinetic powers—hit her smack in her side, and she fell with a gasp, allowing Screech to snatch the cloth from her hand and swoop away. At another point, Krushauer had almost gotten back to his own home base with the flag, but Voyd made a portal that allowed Reflux to step out in front of him, making Krushauer skid to a stop in surprise and allowing He-Lectrix to steal the flag away.

The game lasted for about half an hour, and by the end, all the supers were exhausted. A panting Voyd looked around at her friends, all of whom were sweat-drenched and moving much slower than before. “Truce?” Voyd asked, smiling weakly.

“We can call it a draw,” Krushauer agreed, looking a little worse for wear.

But they didn’t leave the gym right away. Krushauer went back to his dummies in the corner, using his abilities to lift and crush them. Reflux sat back down in his chair—slowly, and complaining about his creaky bones all the way down. Screech approached Voyd, wearing his odd owl’s expression.

“Excuse me, but I have a proposition. Do you believe we could practice together?”

“Sure!” she exclaimed eagerly. “What do you have in mind?”

“Nothing complicated. I was merely thinking that you would put some portals in the air and I would fly through them.”

“Sounds good to me!”

Minutes later, Voyd had pressed the button at the side of the gym which allowed the leather cushions to descend from the ceiling, hanging the air at various altitudes. She sat on one, watching as Screech soared through the air. Aiming carefully, she threw a portal in his path, and he sailed through, emerging just above the floor.

He yelled in surprise and abruptly flew upwards at a right angle, hovering just in front of Voyd. “My goodness! Perhaps a little more care would be prudent?”

She winced. “Sorry! Didn’t mean to turn you into a Screech pancake! I’ll be more careful!”

“It’s perfectly fine. You only frightened me. Do you wish to try again?”

“Sure!”

This time, when Screech sailed across the room and Voyd made a void appear in front of him, she was a little more careful with where the other end emerged. Screech came out safely in the air, just on the other side of the room. Voyd twisted to watch him as he emerged from the portal, and he smiled as he did so. “Your power certainly has a most interesting effect! I wonder how it works?” he called to her.

“I have no idea,” she admitted. No scientists had studied her abilities—though months ago, when things were very different, Evelyn Deavor had expressed some interest—and, Voyd supposed, she was lucky for that. She didn’t really want to become some mad scientist’s guinea pig.

“Well, it’s wonderful nonetheless!” called the other super encouragingly.

“You’re not half-bad yourself!” she said with a smile.

They practiced in this way for a while: Screech nimbly and artfully dodging and ducking and weaving through the air, honing his flying abilities, while Voyd practiced her portal-throwing aim by tossing voids in Screech’s path. Eventually, Screech seemed to tire, and he alighted upon one of the leather cushions not far away from Voyd.

“I believe I may be done for now. If you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind,” she responded. “Feeling a little tired myself.”

“The others have all gone,” he noted. “Shall we join them?”

Voyd glanced down at the ground; she hadn’t even noticed that the other superheroes had left, and the room was empty. “Yeah, might as well.”

"Oh, and Voyd?" He smiled at her in his owlish way. "Wonderful practice. I very much enjoy exercising with you. It makes for quite the original experience!"

Despite the mildness of the compliment, she blushed. "Aw. Thanks."

They reached the ground—Voyd with the help of a portal—and left the gym, with Voyd shutting off the lights before she left. They went to the common room, where they found the other supers. Light music was playing from a speaker mounted in the west wall—jazz music, probably Brick’s choice—and everyone was sitting around on the various furniture, laughing and talking. It was the kind of relaxed atmosphere they’d only achieved a few times before. They may have been colleagues, but they weren’t entirely _friends_ yet. Though Voyd tried her best to think of them as her friends as often as she could.

Krushauer and Brick were facing each other on a couch, each with a glass of wine in hand, and having a quiet conversation, while He-Lectrix was sitting in a living chair listening to Reflux, who was talking very loudly and animatedly.

“…and we only had stale bread and rotten tomatoes! And that’s when Johnson turns to me and says, ‘Burns, I can’t go on like this anymore, I’m going to go nuts.’ And I say to him, I said, ‘Johnson, you got no choice!’ And he says, ‘Burns, if we don’t see some goddamn Germans coming over the hill towards us in the next five minutes, and get some goddamn action, I’m gonna blow my lid!’ And I says to him, ‘What are you gonna do, Johnson, you knucklehead? Are you going to eat the Germans?’ And he says, ‘Well, if I have to eat anymore of these goddamn hunks of rock—”

 “Hold on, hold on,” He-Lectrix interrupted, lifting a hand. “What war was this again?’

“Didn’t I tell ya? The _great_ war!”

“There’ve been a couple of great wars, y’know, Gus.” He-Lectrix’s eyes glimmered with unconvinced amusement.

“Th—th’ one in 1939! That one.”

“But didn’t you just say it was World War I?”

“Did I?” The old man shrugged. “Must’ve confused my dates. I was in both of ’em, you know, son. And if we ever get into another one, God willing, I’ll be in that one too. But of course I was just a young Abercrombie in those days.”

He-Lectrix blinked in confusion. “Sorry, a what now?”

“Aw, forget it. You’re too young. Anyways, we’re in the trench, and Johnson says to me—”

Voyd, who was standing nearby with Screech and smiling as she absorbed the conversation, hesitantly interrupted. “Sorry—what country was this?”

“Hmm? Oh, I didn’t see you there. It was France, my dear. 1940.”

“The Americans didn’t join the war until 1941, if I’m not mistaken,” He-Lectrix pointed out.

“Oh? Well. Must’ve been 1942, then. I was in the 36th Infantry Division. A gang of tough boys, these were. I was an old geezer by then. Older than all the rest.” The gruff super seemed to puff up with pride. “But they accepted me. Boy, did they. I was just one of the lads. Anyways, let me get on with my story. So Johnson says…”

Voyd sat down on a nearby recliner and listened to Reflux tell his story. She wasn’t sure how much of it was true, but it was pretty darn entertaining anyhow, and the old man seemed proud of his exploits—whether or not they were real. Meanwhile, Screech went over to the nearby wooden table that rested against the west wall under the stereo and poured himself a glass of wine.

The elderly hero finished his story with, “…and us boys, we gave those damn Heinies such a whooping, they never showed their faces in France again!”

Voyd was fairly certain that this was inaccurate, but she didn’t protest. She and He-Lectrix shared an amused glance.

“But that Mode broad,” Reflux muttered, abruptly changing the subject. “Tearing my costume apart like that. Insulting me! What did she say? One of you youngsters remind me. You’ve got fresh memories.”

“She called your suit a repulsive blasphemy, if I recall,” He-Lectrix said with a barely-stifled grin.

“Disparaged! Attacked! I’ve never been treated like that in all my years. Why, if she knew about my service record—would she say such things to a veteran? Would she?” he demanded with wide, fiery eyes.

“I don’t think it was _you_ so much as your suit,” Voyd said, trying to diffuse the super’s anger. “And she _is_ a designer after all—it’s her job to criticize people’s outfits.”

“What business does she have tearing the very clothes off my body without so much as an if-you-please? I had half a mind to tell her off right there and then! I only held myself back because there were ladies present. I’ll never go back there, that’s for damn sure.”

“She’s making you a new suit,” He-Lectrix commented. “You won’t even go back to collect it? It’ll probably be worth a look, at least.”

“Pshaw. I’d rather eat garbage!” he declared with a finger pointed straight in the air with conviction.

“Ah. I see. That’s a no then.” He-Lectrix gave Voyd a nearly imperceptible _what-can-you-do_ head shake.

“C’mon, at least go back to see what she designed you!” Voyd pleaded. “You might like it.”

“As I remember, she had nothing nice to say to _you_ , either, young lady,” Reflux said with a scowl. “You’re still going to go back?”

“Of course,” she responded without hesitation. “I mean… she’s _Edna Mode_. She can say whatever she wants. She’s a legend. I’m still flattered we actually got to meet her.”

Krushauer was evidently listening, and he spoke up from halfway across the room. “Don’t let anybody walk over you just because they’re a celebrity. You’ll end up with so many footprints on you, people will think you’re a doormat.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Reflux agreed.

Brick spoke quietly. “I wonder if Edna designs outfits for all of us. All the same. What is word?”

“Perhaps you mean _matching_ ,” suggested Screech.

“Yes. Matching outfits. That is nice idea.”

Krushauer scoffed. “I hope not. I would hate that. I prefer to be my own man, not just one among six.”

“It might help us feel more like a team, though,” Voyd suggested; she’d brightened at the idea. Now that she knew the government was paying for their costumes, she could fully consider the concept that Edna might design them each a matching suit—like the Incredibles!—and the thought made her spark with excitement.

“I’m with him.” Reflux jerked a thumb toward Krushauer. “I’d rather have my own costume, thank you very much. Just because we’re a team doesn’t mean we need to lose the things that make each of us special. It’s just plain tacky, is what it is.”

“It was just a thought,” Brick said quietly, looking a little defeated. “I did not mean offense.”

“Oh, you didn’t offend me any,” Reflux said hurriedly. “No offense taken. I’m just not fond of the idea. That’s all.”

Suddenly, the nearby wall-mounted television flashed to life out of nowhere, loudly blaring a news report. Voyd yelped and jumped half a foot in surprise, clutching her chest.

“Sorry! That was me! I think I’m sitting on the remote,” He-Lectrix confessed. He reached underneath him and pulled out the black remote control, turning the volume down several notches. “Damn, that scared me. Let’s turn it off.”

But Voyd had noticed the headline that ran underneath the reporter’s stern-looking face. “Wait! Let’s listen for a sec.”

The reporter’s voice became louder in increments as He-Lectrix turned the volume up again. “…despite this rise of support, there are still detractors that aren’t afraid to take aim at superhero activity. We spoke to Senator Michael Maple earlier today about a controversial new mandate at the National Supers Agency, and the senator made it very clear that he continues to disapprove of every cent spent upon super endeavors.”

 The camera cut to Senator Michael Maple, earlier in the day, standing in front of the New Urbem town hall, wearing a distinctive frown with a microphone shoved in his face by an unseen reporter. The senator was mid-to-late forties, with salt-and-pepper hair and an almost alarmingly thin build. He wore a sharp black suit and fedora hat. Voyd knew his face well, and she didn’t really like him. Actually, that was an understatement.

“The current administration may be content with allowing the NSA and so-called “superheroes” to run rampant over the common taxpayer, but I will continue to fight against this nonsense as long as there’s breath in my body. The announcement today that the government and the Supers Agency will pay for all superhero costumes? Complete rubbish. It’s the average joe who’s paying for this claptrap, and I won’t have any truck with it. I’ll keep fighting for the people’s rights. We ought to be focusing on local infrastructure, not this.”

“Any thoughts on the emerging superhero fashion industry?” came an unseen reporter’s voice from behind the camera.

Maple scoffed. “I don’t, I mean, I don’t even want to dignify this stuff with a comment. Fashion industry. Give me a break. People like this Edna Mode lady, they have sham jobs. It’s a sham. That’s all it is. Only now, she’s robbing the _people’s_ purses to pay for her lucrative sham career, not just superhero chumps off the street.” He made air quotes around the word ‘superhero.’ “We’re expected to pay from our own pockets for these garish-looking, bargain-basement, campy costumes? It’s an outrage. I won’t have it. And I think, in due time, Joe Public won’t have it either.”

“Maple better hope Edna never hears about this…” Voyd said quietly.

Reflux chortled. “She’d make mincemeat out of him, wouldn’t she?”

“He’s an idiot,” Krushauer spoke up over Maple’s voice. “He is perfectly content to ignore the fact that we save lives. He’s willfully blind.”

“I agree. The guy’s a moron,” said He-Lectrix bluntly. “I look forward to the day we don’t have to see his sorry mug again.”

The reporter’s face came on-screen again. “NHEX also spoke to Maple’s daughter, Mayanna, and she had this to say.”

The recognizable face of Michael’s young, supermodel daughter, Mayanna—with her characteristic high cheekbones and pronounced pout—appeared on the screen. “No, I’m totally with my dad on this one,” said the young lady. “I’d never wear a Mode design on the catwalk. I never have and never will. It’s all cheap, ugly stuff. And now they want to make everyone in America pay for her trash? No. I’m with my dad. It’s, like, an outrage.”

“If Edna hears this, I pray for their immortal souls,” said He-Lectrix dryly as the reporter appeared on-screen once again and resumed his dull drone, now talking about floods in Brazil.

Voyd’s chest was alight with burning anger, but there was a not-insignificant amount of uncertainty there, too. To offset this, she burst out with, “Don’t listen to him, you guys. Who cares what he thinks? And his daughter, too. They don’t know anything. We’re not _hurting_ the average person. That’s silly. We’re heroes, we don’t hurt people!” She glanced around at her friends in turn, losing a little bit of hope each time she saw one of their cynical or dejected faces. “…Right?”

Brick haltingly, uncertainly said, “Maybe he is right.”

“What?” said Voyd, dismayed. “Come on. No.”

“Perhaps yes. Why should average person pay for our suits? If I was average person, I would not think it right. We take their money…”

“In exchange for protecting them!” Voyd argued. “We save lives, we help people! I don’t think a few tax dollars should put anybody off!”

“I can see both sides,” He-Lectrix commented. “Maybe we’re a necessity. Maybe we’re not.” He shrugged. “Still, I think Maple’s a moron. He’s a controversy monger. He wants to stir the pot. He doesn’t actually believe in anything he’s selling. At least, that’s my impression. The main thing is: does the public listen to him? Will the public believe him?”

“Oh… I hope not,” said Voyd, eyebrows meeting in worry. “Can you imagine if they turn against us again, like they did all those years ago?”

“I cannot imagine it and I simply _will_ not picture it,” said Screech with surprising vehemence. “After all this time of fighting for our rights and freedoms, to be forced back into hiding would be a travesty. I do not know if I would ever recover from it.”

“Don’t worry,” came Krushauer’s darkly amused voice. “I’m all but certain that if heroes were banned again, we would all return to our mundane regular lives without a problem. We’ve spent decades inhabiting a normal existence. It wouldn’t be too hard to slip back into old routines. You’d all get over it. So would I. Let’s be realistic here.”

“I wouldn’t,” Voyd insisted; tears were very close to welling into her eyes, and she struggled to keep them in. “I’ve spent too long imagining this life. To have it pulled away from me now…”

He-Lectrix noticed her dismay and looked concerned. “Hey. Let’s not get too deep into the rabbit hole here. Everything is okay, as far as we know. Maple is just one guy. His opinions clearly don’t represent the whole Senate, or else we wouldn’t be here. Things are looking optimistic. Okay? So let’s not dwell on him. We shouldn’t even have watched that. Let’s move on.”

“Yes,” agreed Reflux. “We should put that buffoon out of our minds.”

Voyd blinked her tears away. “Yeah. Let’s just forget him.”

She was about to launch into a big, inspiring speech—her mouth was even open to speak the first words—when a shrill, wailing alarm started to blare. It was their call-to-action alarm, and they’d never heard it before, not for real—only in a practice drill a month before, when Rick had showed them the alarm and what it meant.

It meant the NSA was warning them of a villain attack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank everyone so much for reading!!! The next chapter has more action! I hope you enjoyed this one! :)


	10. Ferocity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The heroes face two supervillains, but their hardest battle will be fought against one of their own.

Voyd’s heart skipped into overdrive. Was it the same evildoers who’d attacked the mall only a few days before? “Guys, we’ve got to get moving! There’s an attack!”

The other Soaring Six had all leapt up—or half-up, at least—from their seated positions, but each looked rather confused. “How do we find out where it’s taking place?” Krushauer demanded.

“Oh, uh… Rick said we have to turn the TV to channel… uh…” Voyd struggled to remember what the NSA agent had told her a month before.

“Fifty. Channel fifty,” He-Lectrix said with confidence, and lifted the remote, entering the numbers. 5-0.

The television changed from a bland news report to a flashing red screen. Emblazoned upon it, in white letters, were these words.

ATTENTION. MEMO FROM NATIONAL SUPERS AGENCY.

NEW URBEM INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT. 6:54 PM.

TWO FEMALE SUPERVILLAINS. THE SAME AS ATTACKED HOUGHTON HEIGHTS MALL.

CIVILIAN HOSTAGES TAKEN.

Reading the last three words caused an enormous lump to form in Voyd’s throat. “Oh, no, guys…”

“We have to leave at once,” Reflux said urgently, and Voyd couldn’t find any reason to disagree with him.

 

Not a minute later, the Soaring Six had all mounted their bikes and roared out of their garage and down the hill, heading with great speed towards the international airport at the edge of the city. As they zoomed down the streets, Voyd—who was riding with Brick again—was terrified like never before, terrified for the civilians whose lives depended on her and her colleagues. _Oh, please, don’t let us be too late, please!_ She didn’t know to whom she was praying, only hoped that, whoever they were, they were listening to her tonight.

She felt a jolt of surprise when a human figure, too slim to be Screech, swooped down from the sky and began keeping pace with her and Brick’s motorcycle. The flying woman waved a hand. “Need any help?”

Voyd quickly realized the female figure—wearing a black outfit with a yellow, sleeveless bodysuit overtop, a yellow transparent mask, and with a yellow cape streaming behind her (Edna would be furious)—was a fellow super, Dehydra. She felt a surge of relief. Dehydra wasn’t part of the Soaring Six, but she too helped protect New Urbem, and the Six were on friendly terms with the flying, sand-powered superheroine. And more heroes on their side couldn’t be anything but a good thing right now.

“Please, yes!” Voyd called back. “We’d love to have you with us!”

“I just heard about this attack at the airport,” Dehydra said, moving closer so Voyd could hear her better over the roar of wind and traffic as they barreled down the busy streets of New Urbem. “It’s a doozy, apparently. I thought you could use all the help you could get.”

“It’s the same people who attacked the mall a few days ago,” Voyd informed her. “They have hostages!”

“Shit. Hostages. We’ve got to get there, and quick.”

Voyd’s sentiment exactly.

Before long, they had arrived at the edge of New Urbem. A flat stretch of highway perhaps a mile long, flanked by fields on either side, led to New Urbem International Airport. Voyd could see the huge building even from here, and she could see the smoke rising from it. _Oh, please, don’t let anybody be dead or hurt._

As they passed the wide concrete airfield beside the airport building proper, where stood a long diagonal row of sleek white jet planes, Voyd noticed that at least one of the planes was on fire, smoke and flame billowing from every window. The airport building, a large and stately structure of glass and metal, wasn’t looking too great either. There were signs of a fight here and there: a piece of window broken, a section collapsed.

The three bikes carrying the Soaring Six zoomed into the parking lot of the airport, heading to the other side. As they headed across the long parking lot, Voyd looked from side to side, checking everywhere for people who might have been hurt. She did see civilians running or stumbling away, some emerging from side doors in the building, dazed, confused and screaming. But none looked seriously injured, to her relief.

The southern side of the airport was a mess. There was a gaping hole in the building’s side, glass shattered and metal twisted; within, everything was dark, except for a few small fires which burned here and there. As the three bikes screeched to a stop in tandem and the heroes quickly dismounted to survey the damage, Dehydra stepped forward, lifting a hand. From various points on the ground lifted thousands of tiny particles, congealing into one swirling mass of sand that flew towards each small fire. The sand smothered the blazes, extinguishing them all within moments.

“Wow, good going,” Voyd encouraged her fellow super.

“Thanks,” Dehydra replied, dispersing the sand with a flick of her wrist. “Some people think my powers are useless unless I’m in a desert. Nope. There’s sand everywhere. Just gotta find it.”

“Do you think you could defeat a supervillain with sand?” This from Krushauer, whose arms were crossed. “I’m not trying to be difficult. I’m just asking a practical question.”

With hands on hips, Dehydra cocked her head at him. “I’ve done it before and I’ll do it again. Hopefully, today.”

“All right.” Krushauer—as with most things—didn’t look convinced.

“So, everyone. What’s the game plan with this?” asked He-Lectrix.

They all looked at Voyd.

Voyd liked the _idea_ of being a leader, but when people actually turned to her for, y’know, _leadership_ , things got a lot less romantic very quickly. “Um.” She bit her lip, trying to think. “Give me a minute.”

Krushauer butted in. “What do we _know_ about these people? That is the first thing we should be considering.”

“One has powers, one doesn’t,” said He-Lectrix. “They don’t seem to have any problem with taking lives. They seem to like taunting us—that note they left is evidence enough. And remember what Rick told us: saving civilians is more important than defeating these people.”

“Okay.” Voyd felt a little more confident after having had a moment to think. “We head into the building. Krushauer and Brick first, since they’re the strongest. We should all watch each other’s backs. Krushauer, Brick, when we see the villains, you two focus on holding them back while the rest of us save the civilians and defend as necessary. Does this sound all right to everyone?”

Everyone agreed. “Then let’s do it,” commanded Voyd, slamming a fist into her open palm in what she hoped was a very heroic and leader-ish gesture.

With Krushauer and Brick leading the way, the Soaring Six plus Dehydra stepped into the airport through the gigantic hole in the wall, advancing slowly through the wreckage and carefully scanning the area around them for signs of trouble. It was like something out of a horror movie. Above them, fluorescent lights flickered dimly on and back off again, leaving them mostly in darkness; it was nearly dark outside, and if the lights in here wouldn’t work, they couldn’t count on the sun to light their way. Distantly, Voyd heard screams, so far-away that she couldn’t tell if she’d heard them at all. Something beside her made an electric noise and sparks flew into the air, causing her to jump.

“I see nothing of note. Maybe the villains have already left,” Screech suggested.

“We should find out. Screech, can you do some reconnaissance?” Voyd asked.

“A pleasure.” Screech silently swooped into the air, a shadowy outline. Soon he was gone, flying stealthily further into the building.

“I don’t like this,” Krushauer muttered, sounding very uneasy for the first time since Voyd had met him. “It feels like a trap.”

“A trap? Why would anyone want to trap us?” But even as Voyd asked the question, she felt more nervous than ever before. This was their first time up against a real supervillain—sure, they’d fought Jaguar, but Jaguar hadn’t done any damage like this, and she certainly hadn’t ever _killed_ anyone. Capturing a jewel thief was markedly different from battling a mysterious, silent pair of villains who had no qualms about destroying entire airports and murdering innocents, all for the kicks. She was tense, jumping at shadows.

“Think about it,” Krushauer said. “Their entire first attack seemed to be an attempt at goading us. Now, they are throwing out another line with juicy bait, drawing us in. I don’t like this.”

“Or maybe they’re just garden-variety evil psychopaths,” He-Lectrix said as they continued deeper into the airport. “We don’t know anything about these people. Now isn’t the time for speculation.”

Krushauer was unimpressed. “You don’t seem to get the message, so I’ll repeat it: you don’t get to tell me, or anyone on this team, what to do or say. Remember that. No one died and made you king.”

He-Lectrix rolled his eyes, but didn’t respond.

“You boys. Stop fighting,” Dehydra—who was floating slightly over their heads—said, sounding annoyed. “I used to be in this four-strong hero team up in Canada. It was miserable. Just constant fighting. Never got any work done. Don’t you all be like that. Be friends.” She pointed imperiously down at them. “I order you to be friends.”

Krushauer and He-Lectrix eyed each other suspiciously.

Voyd’s fear and trepidation was briefly overcome with curiosity. “You did hero work in Canada? What’s it like up there?” she asked as they proceeded slowly through the dark airport.

“Well, for one thing, the laws were never as strict as they are here. Hero work was only allowed after dark, and only under strict regulations, but it was still better for us. We weren’t forced into hiding like you. I only ever came to the States because my mom got sick with this rare disease, and the only treatment was this experimental drug they were testing in New Urbem. So we came down here together, and I had to go into hiding.” Voyd looked up at the black-and-yellow-clad flying hero, whose lips were pursed in memory. “I’d never done that before. Been forced to cover up who I am. But it was worth it. For my mom.”

 “If I may inquire, did your mother recover?” Screech asked curiously.

Dehydra was silent for a few long moments, until Voyd wondered if she’d even heard the question. Finally, the hero said, “She was murdered, actually. A few months ago. Robbery gone bad.”

Voyd sucked in a breath, filled with sorrow for the other super. “Oh, no, I’m so sorry…” Her teammates expressed similar sentiments.

Dehydra cracked a bitter half-smile. “Ah, don’t worry about it. That’s my problem, not you guys’. I don’t need to dump my life story on you. I’m serious. Don’t worry about me.”

“Did they catch who did it?” He-Lectrix inquired.

“Yup,” Dehydra answered shortly. “Fifteen-year-old kid from a broken home. Got sentenced to fifteen hundred hours of community service. I’d prefer not to talk about this anymore if you guys don’t mind too much.”

Voyd could hear the barely-suppressed anger, clear as day, in Dehydra’s voice. “We won’t bother you anymore,” she assured her fellow hero. “Right, guys? Let’s just focus on stopping these criminals.”

A loud screech sounded, echoing eerily through the building. In unison, everyone’s heads jerked in that direction. “You okay, Screech?” Voyd whispered into her headset.

No response.

“I don’t think he’s got his headset on,” He-Lectrix said warily. “If he did, we’d all be deafened right now from that screech.”

“You think he’s in danger?” Dehydra asked, looking apprehensively in the direction where the noise had come from.

“We’ve got to go help him! Forget stealth. Come on, guys!” With that, Voyd started throwing portals ahead of her, making her determined journey across the airport much faster. Fear nearly forgotten, she headed toward Screech’s location with no hesitation. She was aware of Dehydra flying just above her and her friends following behind, and the presence of her allies bolstered her courage like nothing else could.

She skidded to a stop when she’d reached a large atrium and stared at what she saw there. This was evidently the entrance area of the airport, a beautiful area with a granite floor, flowers and trees here and there, and a long row of reception desks against the far wall. Behind said reception desks were people. Voyd could see them between the desks, lined up and sitting against the wall, cowering and terrified. Just ordinary civilians. She couldn’t count them—many of them were hidden behind the desks—but she thought, with terror, that there must be at least thirty.

At the side of the room was Screech, leaning against the wall in apparent exhaustion. Voyd’s eyes widened when she saw that his left wing was damaged, feathers in disarray. His headset was lying nearby, cracked and broken. He shook his head at Voyd, looking guilty.

In front of the desks stood two women.

One was quite a bit shorter than the other, and although her face was half-covered by a dark red mask, Voyd guessed that the shorter one was much younger than the taller woman. Both wore dark red suits with pink gloves and pink boots. The taller one’s suit had an H on the chest, circled by a heart; the other had a Q. The taller one was grinning widely as she saw Voyd enter the room.

“Excellent,” said Heartless.

The other supers quickly joined Voyd, standing behind and beside her. Heartless’s smile grew as she saw them enter. “A whole posse of you! It’s better than I could have dreamed!” the woman exclaimed.

“Let those people go,” Voyd demanded, fists clenched. “They’ve done nothing wrong.”

Heartless chuckled and stepped back towards the row of hostages, leaning back with her hands braced against one of the desks. It was a strangely casual position—the body language of a person who knows they’re bound to win. Her younger partner was left standing alone.

“If you want them, just come and get them, supers,” Heartless said amusedly.

Voyd glanced at her friends, terror and uncertainty causing her heart to beat a billion times a minute. But she had to keep being a leader. “Stick to our plan,” she hissed quietly. “Krushauer, Brick, you attack them. Everyone else, focus on keeping those civilians safe. Let’s do this!”

As Krushauer and Brick rushed towards the villains, Voyd created a portal and slipped through. The other end led to the civilians. She kept the portal open so that the others could head through it, too. The first priority was, needed to be, would always be, saving lives.

Voyd heard Screech’s voice yelling in dismay: “Be careful!”

All hell broke loose.

Voyd, Dehydra, Reflux and He-Lectrix stepped through the portal and emerged behind the desks, before the long row of cowering civilians. “We’re here to get you out!” Voyd told them, but even as she did, she heard an almost-deafening, indescribable sound from behind. She and her colleagues whipped around to see Brick and Krushauer being blasted back by the younger superhero, who was holding up her hands and emitting bright beams of red light. Though they were doubtlessly the strongest and bulkiest members of the team, Brick and Krushauer were both struggling against the beams, trying to push their way forward as if they were swimming against a current, with little success. And with horror, Voyd guessed that the young Queen of Hearts was using only a fraction of her power.

“Let’s get these civilians out,” Voyd desperately told Reflux. “He-Lectrix, Dehydra, go help them!”

“On my way.” He-Lectrix leapt over a nearby desk and emitted a blast of electricity at the Queen of Hearts, who winced hard and stumbled to the side. The energy stopped emitting from her palms—but only for a moment, as she quickly recovered and took aim at He-Lectrix. For all his electrical power, the super was quite a bit thinner than Brick and Krushauer, and he was blown back against the concrete wall, where he slumped, looking dazed.

As for Dehydra, she hovered above it all and lifted her hands, causing particles of sand to lift from the ground and form into a vortex which she aimed at Queen of Hearts. The girl glanced up and seemed unconcerned with the onslaught, simply using one of her hands to fend off the sand with a pennant of red energy while the other continued to alternately blast Krushauer and Brick.

Though Voyd was afraid that He-Lectrix—and maybe Screech, too—were badly injured, there was no time to check. She created a portal in the wall behind her, opening it up to the room beyond, and said urgently to the civilians, “Get up! Go through and leave, get out of here now!”

As the terrified and confused civilians began clambering through the portal in the wall, Voyd heard an amused voice from behind her. “Great job, heroes. Keep it up. I’ll be your cheerleader.”

Voyd turned her head as she continued shepherding citizens through the portal. Heartless was leaning forward against one of the desks, smiling widely, as though this was a hilarious game. “Yes, yes, keep going. Great job. You’re doing splendid.”

“What the hell is your deal, lady?” Reflux demanded in fury. Voyd was thinking just about the same thing.

“Oh. No deal. None at all. Just watching.” She looked Voyd up and down and her eyebrows raised judgementally. “Nice costume. Very DIY.”

It was more than an odd situation—there was the supervillain, just sitting there, doing nothing about… anything. She seemed content to just stand there and watch while, behind them all, her young compatriot was fighting against three superheroes. Voyd didn’t know what to think.

“Reflux,” she said urgently, “what if we’re sending the citizens into a trap?”

“Oh, there’s no trap,” said Heartless. Her smile widened and, beneath the mask, her eyes narrowed. “Not for them, anyway.”

The words sent a chill scurrying up Voyd’s spine.

The last of the civilians had soon escaped, and though Voyd felt a weight lift from her shoulders at the sight of that last person running away into the other room, she still felt a sense of heavy dread. She got the distinct impression that the civilians had merely been, just as Krushauer said…

Bait.

Heartless turned around languidly. “Darling?” she called. “Time to stop playing with your food.”

Queen of Hearts nodded. The red energy stopped emitting from her hands, and she bowed her head in seeming deep concentration.

No longer being assailed, Brick and Krushauer stood up straight and glanced at each other in brief confusion. Then, they launched into action: Brick rushed at the villainess while Krushauer crushed a nearby bench into a ball of metal and prepared to lob it at the evildoer.

They were stopped by a blast of sand.

Everyone’s gazes snapped up toward the ceiling, staring in confusion at the super who hovered there. Dehydra didn’t seem to have thrown the sand _at_ the supers—part of it had struck Queen of Hearts, too. The super was clutching her head; her face was invisible, and her legs were drawn up into the fetal position.

Voyd’s eyes jerked toward Queen of Hearts in bewilderment. The villain’s eyes were closed in concentration.

“ _Goddammit_ ,” Dehydra hissed, and Voyd looked up at her again. The super’s hands had left her face, and Voyd could see that Dehydra looked mad with fury. Her mouth was drawn up in a snarl, her eyes were slits…

“Dehydra! What’s wrong?” Voyd called up to her.

At the sound of her name, Dehydra’s eyes fixed on Voyd. Without a moment’s hesitation, she raised her hand. A blast of sand—harder than you could ever imagine sand to be, with the force of a shovel—hit Voyd’s body, and she was knocked backward, landing on the ground with a thud.

Before Voyd knew it, sand was flying around the room.

The onslaught made one thing clear: Dehydra was not in control. Sand and dirt whipped around the atrium in a veritable sandstorm of chaos, stinging Voyd’s eyes and reducing visibility to near-zero. Voyd struggled to rise to her feet among the flying sand, raising a hand above her smarting eyes to protect them. “Dehydra! Stop!” she screamed, even though she knew it would do no good.

She could barely make out the form of Reflux standing beside her. “Reflux! I’m pretty sure it’s Queen of Hearts doing this! We’ve got to stop her!” she cried.

She didn’t even know if Reflux heard her, but a moment later, she heard a whisper right in her ear. And it wasn’t Reflux.

“Kill her. It’s the only way to stop this madness,” the husky female voice murmured.

Voyd whipped around, grasping in the air, trying to grab onto the source of the voice—no dice; no one was there. It was as though a ghost had said the words.

Among the swirling sand, Voyd saw blue lightning slash through the air. He-Lectrix was targeting Dehydra’s last known location in the sky—who knew if she was even there anymore? Nonetheless, it did nothing to quell the storm. It did help Voyd tell where He-Lectrix was, though, and she created a portal in the air and another next to where the lightning had come from, stepping through. There was He-Lectrix, his slender form hardly visible among the sand.

She screamed at him, “Queen of Hearts is doing this! I’m sure of it!”

“She has the power to make people insane?” He-Lectrix yelled back. “Jesus! I hope not!”

“It’s right here in front of our eyes! We have to stop Dehydra without hurting her!”

“But how?”

Above the wailing of the wind and the whipping of the sand, which created a huge noise all on its own, Voyd heard another sound rise above: a wail. A scream. A ragged sound of total fury.

“I can zap her without hurting her too badly!” He-Lectrix yelled over the din. “Hopefully it’ll stun her!” With that, he lifted his hands and sent lightning through the air, again aiming for where Dehydra was last seen. This time, it worked. The scream—and the sand—briefly stopped, and the particles ceased their movement and fell harmlessly to the ground, revealing Dehydra’s prone form on the ground. But there was no time for anything, not even a thought, because Dehydra had picked herself up back to her feet within a second, staring around the room with utter hate in her eyes.

With a scream of seeming frustration, Dehydra aimed a blast of sand at He-Lectrix, who was blown backward. Voyd had never known the force sand could have—not before today.

“Snap out of it!” she pleaded.

Dehydra wasn’t listening. Sand barreled through the air at Voyd, who was able to duck just in time. When she rose, using a nearby desk to pull herself to her feet, the first thing she saw was Brick running at Dehydra, perhaps hoping to tackle her to the ground. Dehydra shot sand at the hero, but Brick wasn’t stopped, and she threw herself at Dehydra, tackling her through a nearby window. The glass shattered beneath her weight and the two supers fell outside.

“Guys! We have to go help before she hurts somebody,” Voyd cried. She rushed toward the broken window, and heard the thumping footsteps of her friends following her. Before she stepped through the broken window, she looked behind her into the atrium and her heart fell at what she saw—or, more accurately, didn’t see.

Though the other Soaring Six were behind her, Heartless and Queen of Hearts had disappeared.

But the maddened Dehydra was the main concern now. As Voyd stepped into the outside with the others following, she saw that Brick had been shoved away from Dehydra, who was staring at the other super with furious fire in her eyes. Dehydra sent a scythe of sand through the air, and it smacked each of the supers, knocking nearly all of them to the ground.

Voyd saw something that made her heart rise into her throat. There was a crowd of civilians watching, wide-eyed and seemingly unable to move in terror. They weren’t that close… but they weren’t far away enough for comfort.

“Get out of here!” Voyd screamed at them. “Go! Reflux, get them out of here!”

The elderly super headed over to the crowd to shepherd them away while the rest did battle with Dehydra. Krushauer lifted a nearby car and prepared to throw it at the heroine.

“No! You’ll kill her!” Voyd screamed at him.

“If this goes on much longer, we may not have a choice!” he yelled back, but he obeyed and let the car drop.

He-Lectrix lifted his hands and sent a shot of lightning towards Dehydra, which hit and momentarily stunned the super. Probably aiming to knock her out of commission, he sent another set of bolts toward the super, but this time, she sent a blast of sand toward him, knocking him off course. The bolt went off in another direction, toward the civilians that Reflux was leading away. It hit a middle-aged, suit-wearing square in the back, and she fell to the ground with a cry of pain.

“Jesus,” He-Lectrix said, dropping his hands and staring at his victim in guilt.

“Reflux, get them the hell out of here!” Krushauer bellowed at the old super.

“I’m trying my best!” Reflux thundered back as he helped the downed woman to her feet and continued leading the herd of civilians away.

Dehydra was clutching her head in her hands and screaming in seeming fury now; her voice was hoarse, raw with overuse. “Dehydra, please, we’re your friends! It’s okay! Stop!” Voyd yelled in desperation.

Brick, who was standing on the other side of Dehydra, barely dodged a bullet-like blast of sand from the heroine. “Voyd, talk is not working! We need other plan!”

Voyd turned to He-Lectrix, the cogs in her mind moving a million miles a second. “If you can get close enough to her, maybe…”

“But I can’t,” he protested. “She won’t let anyone!”

“Leave that to me!” With that, Voyd created a portal in front of He-Lectrix and another right next to Dehydra. She nodded. He nodded back.

He-Lectrix went through the portal. Before Dehydra could react, he hit her with a close-up burst of energy that knocked her to the ground, where she lay, twitching.

“Now’s our chance, guys,” He-Lectrix yelled at his friends. Brick lumbered toward them and leaned down, grabbing Dehydra, hauling her to her feet, and holding her fast with hands clamped against torso so she couldn’t so easily create a knife-like burst of sand.

But it seemed the danger was over. Dehydra’s head was slumped against her chest, and she resisted no more.

“Oh my god, Brick, is she alive?” Voyd asked softly, heart thumping loudly in her chest.

“She is alive,” Brick confirmed. “Not awake though.”

Voyd heard the distant sound of police sirens. “About time the cops got here,” Krushauer muttered bitterly. “They’ve been a lot of help, huh?”

Dehydra’s head lifted slightly off her chest, and she blinked slowly. “Uhh… what’s happening?”

“You are okay,” Brick said gently to the super, though she didn’t loosen her grip. “Relax.”

“The villains…” With that thought, Voyd rushed back into the building through the hole in the window, searching for Heartless and Queen of Hearts. But though, with the help of her voids, she looked everywhere she could, she found no sign of the evildoers.

They had escaped.

Finally, Voyd stood just outside the front entrance to the airport, exhausted and feeling as though she hadn’t done enough. She was certain her colleagues felt the same. They stood beside her, standing around uncertainly, with Brick still maintaining a firm hold on Dehydra.

“They got away,” she murmured, more to herself than anyone else.

“It is not our fault. We had to take care of this one.” Krushauer jerked a hand toward the near-incoherent Dehydra. “What more could we have done?”

“Something,” Voyd said quietly, feeling a sense of crushing guilt. “We could’ve done something.”

The police arrived in due course, busloads of them, and ambulances too, and some cops rushed into the building with guns drawn while others urgently questioned the Soaring Six about what had happened. When Voyd briefly explained the situation, she left out the part about Dehydra going insane, in order to protect her friend.

The Soaring Six soon realized there was little more they could do, and they mounted their bikes, heading back to the SJP with worry and confusion heavy in their hearts; Brick and an injured Screech carried the dazed Dehydra on their bike. Voyd rode with He-Lectrix, staring off into space as the city whipped by her. As far as she knew, no one had died, which was the best she could’ve hoped for. But… they’d gotten away. The villains had gotten away. And tonight’s events had left Voyd more confused than ever about these two evildoers.

She murmured into her headset, “Guys, I don’t think they wanted to kill anybody. Not civilians, I mean. I think they wanted us to kill Dehydra. I think they want us to hurt _each other_.”

A concerned He-Lectrix replied, “What makes you think that?”

The malevolent whispered words in her ear— _Kill her. It’s the only way_ —echoed in Voyd’s mind.

So quietly that she wasn’t sure anyone could even hear her, she mumbled, “I think Heartless told me herself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the cat's out of the bag... at least like, halfway out of the bag.
> 
> Thank you for reading!!! :)


	11. Her Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team deals with the fallout from the attack on the airport. Later, Voyd calls Elastigirl, learns something she probably shouldn't know, and gets some much-needed reassurance.

“Maybe we can duct tape it?”

But even as Voyd offered the words with a hesitantly optimistic smile, she knew they held no weight. Screech’s wing was too badly injured. The super sat on a couch in the SJP’s common room, leaned forward so that the others could examine his damaged appendage. The wing was all but snapped in half, dangling at an odd angle.

“I find myself incapable of even moving it,” Screech informed his colleagues tiredly. “I believe it will have to be removed. Apologies, Voyd, but your suggestion of duct tape will not be adequate.”

“Maybe if we go around it a bunch of times?” she offered, trying not to feel useless.

“Not even if we go around it a bunch of times, no.” This was the closest to sarcasm that she’d ever heard Screech get. “But thank you. Your suggestions are appreciated.”

“What happened to you, anyway?” the nearby Reflux asked. “How did they get ya?”

“I was unprepared for the force of the young lady’s attack. Her power shoved me against the wall, and I impacted at the wrong angle.”

“Did it hurt?” asked Voyd with trepidation, not sure if she’d like the answer.

Screech shook his head. “The wings are not designed to feel pain. If they were, I would no doubt be doubled over in agony.”

“Can we do anything?” This came from Brick, who looked concerned for her friend.

“No, but I thank you for your offer. An engineer—preferably, the same one who designed the wings—is the only person who can repair this damage.” Screech’s eyes were cast to the floor and he sighed quietly.

Realizing there was something he wasn’t saying, Voyd leaned forward in worry. “Screech, what’s wrong?”

After a moment of silence, he admitted, “The one who designed the wings was in his eighties when he did so. I’m afraid he has long since passed away. There may not be any hope for me to fly again.”

Though Voyd’s heart clenched in sympathy for her friend, she tried to stay upbeat. “Cheer up, Screech. I’m sure there’s somebody out there who can make you an even better pair of wings!”

“Perhaps there is,” said Screech, but Voyd knew his optimism was forced.

Krushauer spoke up from his position by the window; it was the early morning of the next day, with the orange sun peeking up above the city, and they’d all had very fitful sleeps the previous night. “Does anyone want to offer an explanation for what happened last night? Does anyone _have_ one?”

“I think they want to bait us,” Voyd said quietly, the smile slipping from her face. “Just like you said. I think the civilians were just like…a worm on a hook. And we’re the fish.”

“But why?” He-Lectrix, who had been unusually silent, asked. The super was sitting on a leather chair, looking disturbed and staring off into space. “Why do these people want to bait us?”

“It was Dehydra,” Voyd said. “When she was attacking us, I heard this voice in my ear. It was the older one. Heartless. She said…” Voyd could hardly force the words out of her throat; they tasted like poison. “She told me, ‘Kill her.’ That’s what she said.”

For a moment, all was silent in the room as the Soaring Six processed this potentially-horrifying information.

“ _Kill her_ ,” Screech finally said, repeating the words with disgusted hesitation. “Why would they want us to kill each other?”

“I don’t know,” Voyd admitted, “but thank god it didn’t work. Next time, we all need to be on our guard. Whatever they say, don’t hurt each other.”

“These are a couple of broads who really hate superheroes, aren’t they?” said Reflux with narrowed eyes.

“For whatever reason,” said He-Lectrix, still staring into the distance at something no one else could see.

“I just hope Dehydra is okay,” Voyd said, looking out the window over the city and clasping her arms around herself as an involuntary chill shivered through her. The sand-powered superhero was in NSA custody, currently being interrogated— _gently_ interrogated, Rick Dicker had assured the Soaring Six—for her role in the attack. “I hope the NSA understands that she didn’t do any of it on purpose.”

“They had better,” said Krushauer. “We certainly explained it enough times.”

“But how did villains make her evil?” asked Brick, looking at each of her friends with fear written clearly on her face. “And if they do it to her, can they not do the same to us?”

“They won’t,” Voyd insisted with fists clenched. “We know they’ve got the power to mess with people’s emotions now. We can expect them to use it, and we can fight back.”

Krushauer scoffed bitterly. “I’m not so sure. Even if we are expecting such an attack, who’s to say any one of us will be strong enough to resist it?”

“What exactly did those freaks do to Dehydra, anyhow?” asked Reflux.

“I have a theory,” He-Lectrix said. But still, he didn’t look at his colleagues as he spoke to them; he just kept staring off at the opposite wall.

Voyd was concerned for him, but she didn’t want to bother him about it. “What’s your theory?”

“Her mother,” said He-Lectrix. “She was angry about her mother. About how the killer got off with a slap on the wrist. And I think those villains took that anger and made it stronger, made it so strong that she couldn’t do anything but fight us indiscriminately, so strong that she couldn’t even think or act rationally. That’s my theory, anyhow.”

“Well, that makes things easier,” Reflux declared. “None of us is angry like Dehydra was. So _we’ll_ be okay. Right?”

“Don’t be so sure,” Krushauer warned. “If they can only use someone’s anger, then those who aren’t angry will be fine. But if they can use _other_ emotions…”

“We’ll just hope that they can’t,” said Voyd, trying to offer a reassuring smile to the others. “And even if they can, we can try to resist. Right?”

“Yes. We will all try our best to resist. And with luck, we will win.” Screech lifted his head and gave a tired smile. “We must remain positive, and think about the good. At least no one was badly injured or killed.”

Voyd almost sagged with relief as she was reminded of this fact. “Yeah.”

Reflux spoke. “Hey. You think we’re on the news?”

A foreboding, dreadful curiosity flared in Voyd’s chest, and although she knew she probably wouldn’t like whatever they’d see on the television, she knew that she couldn’t go another second without finding out. “We can find out,” she replied, searching the room with her eyes for the remote control until she found it lying on a nearby ottoman. She picked it up and her finger hovered over the power button, then stopped. “If everyone else is okay with it, that is,” she quickly added, glancing around at the faces of her teammates.

No one offered any outright objection, so Voyd pressed the power button, almost wishing she could clench her eyes shut as she did so. The TV flickered to life, and she turned it to the all-day news channel.

Just as she’d expected, they were talking about the attack on the airport. A serious-looking, trenchcoat-wearing report was standing in front of the damaged building, microphone in hand, as cleanup crews worked behind him. “…lucky this disaster didn’t turn into a senseless tragedy. No lives were lost, but as Chief Davis commented earlier, things could easily have gone much worse, were it not for the quick arrival…”

In this brief moment, Voyd’s guts rose into her throat and she leaned toward the screen with wide eyes, waiting for him to say, _…of the superhero team known as the Soaring Six._

“…of New Urbem’s brave first responders,” the reporter said solemnly, and Voyd deflated. “The villains were caught on security footage—” A grainy image popped up in the corner of the screen, showing the two evildoers. “—and according to unconfirmed reports, these attackers are calling themselves ‘Heartless’ and ‘Queen of Hearts.’ As for the superheroes who attended the scene—”

Voyd’s hope returned, and she eagerly leaned forward again, waiting for their work to be acknowledged.

“—their night did not go smoothly. According to eyewitnesses, the supers bravely helped several civilians escape the area, but then were forced to fight one of their own gone rogue, at which point the villains were able to escape unmolested. No report so far on what caused this hero to attack their own side. Certainly, last night was not a stellar showing for this burgeoning hero team, who are likely kicking themselves for allowing—”

“Oh,” Voyd said quietly, shaking her head in disappointment.

“What will it take for them to praise us?” Krushauer’s arms were crossed tightly and his mouth was a thin line. “It’s a serious question. Is there anything we can do that they won’t find a flaw with?”

Voyd was still listening intently to the reporter, and she was taken aback when a grainy photo of He-Lectrix appeared in the screen’s bottom corner. “This super, known as He-Lectrix—we’re getting unconfirmed reports that he attacked a civilian, whether purposefully or by mistake. Now, this alleged victim has evidently been taken to hospital and plans to file a lawsuit for her mistreatment—”

Voyd’s eyes snapped over to He-Lectrix; the blue-suited super had slumped even lower into the chair, with eyes staring at the ground. “Look, we all know you didn’t do it on purpose,” she told him, trying to be reassuring. “The truth will come out.”

“Yeah,” He-Lectrix said dejectedly, not looking at her. It was the lowest she’d ever seen him, and her heart ached.

“…a chaotic night for these superheroes, who retired to their home base and have not been seen since,” the reporter continued.

Feeling like she hadn’t done enough to lift his spirits, Voyd tried again. “Seriously, He-Lectrix. It’s okay. You couldn’t have done anything to prevent it.”

He raised his hand and looked at her, eyes underscored with heavy circles. “Couldn’t I, though?”

At the sight of her friend in such pain, Voyd felt suddenly infuriated that the media would treat them like this. “Of course not! Anyone could see it was an accident!”

He-Lectrix shook his head. “Come on, Voyd. Don’t tell me that if _you_ hurt a random innocent person, you wouldn’t be kicking yourself too. Don’t tell me you don’t get it.”

“Yeah,” she said in dismay, “but…”

But the reporter’s face had disappeared from the screen and a more familiar one had replaced it. Voyd went quiet as Senator Michael Maple, who was standing near the airport and looking righteously peeved, started to speak.

“Oh, shit,” said Krushauer resignedly just before Maple began to talk.

“Yet more evidence,” said the senator, finger pointed in the air, “that supers do more harm than good. First of all, one of these so-called ‘heroes’ turned and attacked the others, and frankly, this is a danger I’ve always been worried about. These people, these superhumans who have more power and strength than the rest of us—who’s to say any one of them won’t turn rogue at any moment? And if they do, what’s our contingency plan?

“We lift these super-soldiers up on pedestals, we turn them into celebrities, we worship at their altar, we give them free rein to act at their own discretion, the government _pays_ for their _armor_ —” He slammed his fist into his open palm with each point, eyes narrowed in apparent fury. “And yet we’re surprised when one of their number gets power-hungry and decides to go rogue? I, for one, am not surprised. I’m angry, sure, but I’m not surprised. And to top it all off, one of these so-called ‘good guys’ _electrocuted_ a citizen! Where is the justice for this woman? Where are the repercussions? We cannot simply allow this protected class of felons to run wild and do as they please. There must be some level of accountability. I’m on this victim’s side, I’ll tell you that. And I will fight for her rights, just as I fight for the rights of every _normal_ person in—”

“Please turn it off,” said He-Lectrix, voice heavy, and Voyd immediately obeyed. The room was plunged into weighty silence.

“Don’t listen to him,” she insisted, though it was a sentiment she was growing less and less sure about. “He’s wrong. We saved tons of people.”

“Quite right, we did.” Voyd hoped she was wrong, but she thought she might see a hint of glowing lava in Reflux’s throat as the infuriated old super began to speak. “Who in the hell do these news idiots think they are, anyway? One day, we could be saving _their_ behinds from a villain, and when that day comes, you want to bet I’ll be dropping them a few times by ‘accident.’”

Krushauer was shaking his head with a tight, cynical smile. “Ungrateful. They always have been, and they always will be. Sometimes I wonder if this work is worth it, when this is how they treat us in return.”

“If I may,” Screech spoke up softly, “and I don’t mean to offend, but we _did_ make mistakes last night. Myself included, of course. We must always strive to be better, and if the media holds us accountable for our flaws, then so be it. There is always room for growth.”

Krushauer objected, “They aren’t only holding us accountable—they’re spit-roasting us. There was barely a mention of our victories, the civilians we helped protect. The focus was all on our losses. It’s beyond unfair.”

“Yes!” spoke up Reflux, jabbing a finger in the air. “There’s no respect for our work! They only want to find ways to tear us down! It’s disgraceful! In my day, veterans were treated with respect!”

Brick’s quiet, low murmur entered the conversation. “I am ashamed,” said the accented super softly. “They make me feel shame. But shame is good, I think. It push us to do better. We feel shame, we improve. We must listen and learn, not argue and close ears. At least, I think so.”                                          

“There is no reason for you to be ashamed, Brick,” Krushauer said firmly. “You did nothing wrong. None of us did.”

Brick didn’t reply.

“We _did_ let them get away…” Voyd pointed out softly, feeling guilt overwhelm her own heart. She clutched her arms around herself as though she were freezing cold, and a stray thought wandered through her mind: did Elastigirl ever feel like this? _Of course not_ , Voyd’s mind instantly responded to its own question. She was always a media darling. Everyone loved her. No one was ever critical of the golden girl—at least, not that Voyd remembered. And for good reason, too. Voyd couldn’t imagine Elastigirl hurting a civilian or letting a villain flee. Even by accident.

“Even Mr. Incredible himself didn’t capture every single villain in his heyday,” said Reflux with a scowl. “And he’s the gold standard! Why should we expect ourselves to be better than the gold standard when we’re just starting out? For that matter, why should snobby news guys and slimy politicians with no brains in their heads?”

Voyd looked at the ground; she didn’t know what to think, so many thoughts buzzing around her head. And to top it all off, she had a shift at the pet store coming up at twelve o’clock. She didn’t even know if she could handle that much.

 

The alarm clock on the bedside table showed 7:56 AM in blocky red letters as Voyd’s hand hesitated over the phone that sat on the table beside the clock. She was sitting on the bed in one of the bedrooms at the SJP, hotly debating whether to call the person she intended to phone.

Elastigirl had given Voyd her home phone number in case of emergency, and Voyd had nearly fainted when the older super handed her the pink slip of paper with a wink. Or, at least, Voyd _remembered_ her winking, but she wasn’t sure if that had actually happened or if it was just a product of her imagination. In any case, Voyd’s hand was hovering over the phone, and she bit her lip hard in uncertainty. She could use some guidance from the wiser, more seasoned hero—now more than ever. But she didn’t want to bother Elastigirl, either. She didn’t want to play the role of the obsessive, clingy fan who didn’t know the meaning of the word boundaries.

But it was just one phone call.

Her cautious side lost out. Voyd picked up the phone and dialed the seven-digit number she’d memorized by heart, and held the phone up to her ear. It rang, shrill and insistent. Her heartbeat quickened. What would she say? _Hi? It’s an honor to speak to you again? Good morning? Sorry to bother you?_ A combination of all of them? None of them?

There was a click, and a pleasant male voice answered the phone. “Hello?”

It was Mr. Incredible. Slightly less daunting, but still no piece of cake: she’d idolized _all_ the heroes of old, including and especially him, and the idea of talking to him was petrifying. For a microsecond she entertained the idea of just hanging up. But instead, she steeled herself.

“Hi, M-Mr. Incredible. It’s me, Voyd.”

“Oh! Hi.” In the background, she heard the sound of a screaming infant, and frustrated noises from Mr. Incredible before he returned to the phone. “Sorry if I’m a little distracted. Things are hectic around here. What do you need?”

“I’d l-like to speak to Elastigirl, please, if it’s no trouble.” She thought about adding an extra _If she’s not available it’s totally okay_ at the end of the sentence, but decided that might be a little too much.

“Helen?” said Mr. Incredible distractedly; she heard Jack-Jack gurgling. “Sure, no problem, I’ll get her for you.”

Helen. Her name was Helen.

This was monumental, and Voyd gulped as she realized the enormity of the moment. _She knew Elastigirl’s name_. Had Mr. Incredible slipped up, made a terrible mistake, spilled a secret he had meant to keep? Or did he just trust Voyd enough to not mind if she knew the Incredibles’ secret identities? Either thought made her dizzy. Anyhow, the secret was safe with Voyd, no matter what.

There were various thumping, bumping and clattering sounds. A faint “Give this to your mother.” An even fainter “Awwwww, Dad, I was in the middle of this game!” The sound of wind rushing past the receiver.

Then, the moment arrived.

That raspy voice answered the phone. “Hello?”

Voyd swallowed hard and screwed up her courage. “Um, hi. It’s V-Voyd.”

“Hi.” Voyd couldn’t gauge the tone in Elastigirl’s voice. “What do you need? Is there an emergency?”

“Um, n-no. I’m s-sorry to bother you. It’s just… have you seen the news lately?”

A baby’s piercing wail stabbed in the background. “I’m a little busy right now, Voyd,” Elastigirl said, sounding like she was _trying_ not to sound impatient. “I’m sorry. Is this an emergency?”

Voyd’s heart shattered into a million pieces, and she absentmindedly twisted the phone cord around her finger. “No! No. It’s not an emergency. I’m really sorry to bother you. It’s okay…” She faltered, trailing off. She _knew_ she’d just be bothering the Incredibles if she called them. She’d known it and done it anyway. Stupid, stupid!

Elastigirl’s sigh crackled through the phone. “I did see the news. I saw what happened. They’re really putting you guys through the wringer, aren’t they? And you called for advice, huh?”

She was so perceptive. Voyd’s heart mended. “Yeah. I’m j-just feeling so down about it, and I was wondering… well, I was just wondering if you’d ever gone through the s-same thing.”

“The media talking smack about me?” Elastigirl laughed. “Yeah. It happens. It happens to all of us, to the best of us. It is what it is. You’ll learn to co-exist with those vultures.” Her tone grew more serious, more motherly. “The best advice I can offer is this: there’s always gonna be a hurt bystander threatening to sue, or a politician screaming about property damage. But the important part is to remember all the good you did in the process. You guys _saved_ people, Voyd. I know you did. And _that_ is what matters. _That_ is why we do the work that we do. Remember that.”

Voyd knew her face was redder than a beet at the moment, and to hear her idol say these words only made her blush harder. “T-Thanks. I really needed to hear that.”

“You’re welcome.” The baby’s wail became even louder, and Voyd could practically hear an eye-roll in Elastigirl’s sigh. “Looks like my husband requires some assistance. You need anything else?”

“Uh, n-no. I’m good. Thank you.”

“Bye, then.” The phone abruptly clicked into silence, and a dial tone droned into Voyd’s ear. She sat there with the phone against her cheek for a while, just listening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Voyd is very gay. Also, the sky is blue. You wanna bet she'll be whispering the name Helen to herself 24/7 now.
> 
> As always, thank you for reading!!! :)


	12. All About Artie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We meet a new character!

“You’re probably all wondering why I’ve called you in here.” Winston laughed heartily. “You know something? I’ve always wanted to say that.”

The Soaring Six, gathered in the common area of the SJP and sitting on its various items of furniture, looked at the tycoon warily. He beamed down at them, too chipper for eight in the morning. “Voyd, you remember I told you I had someone I want you all to meet? He’s coming over as we speak.”

“That engineer?” Voyd inquired, one eyebrow raised. She’d nearly forgotten about that.

“Yeah. One of our best and brightest. He’s got some great ideas, and as far as I know, he’s going to bring some of them over here for you guys to examine. And Screech, he can probably do something about that wing of yours, too.”

Screech sounded hesitant and slightly unconvinced. “If he can, it will be a marvel to behold, and I’ll be eternally grateful.”

“Hopefully we can arrange that.” The billionaire grew more somber. “I heard about what happened last night. I bet you’re all pretty tired, huh? You look beat.”

Voyd nodded, answering for the group. “We’re tired, yeah, but we’re okay.”

“Well, you sure did a great job, at least in my opinion. Keep up the good work.”

The door began to click as someone opened it, and Winston smiled widely. “Ah, here he is now!”

The young man awkwardly pushed the door open while grunting in effort as he pulled a large, clattering metal cart behind him with one hand. “Shit, that hill is a f—” He stopped as he looked up and saw the Soaring Six gathered in the common room. Voyd got the sense that he’d been talking to himself.

He paused for a moment, seemingly caught in time, and then raised a hand—the one that’d been holding the door back—in greeting. “Hel—” He didn’t get to finish the word, as the door smacked him in the face.

Voyd winced hard.

With mouth screwed up in pain and perhaps embarrassment, the young man pushed the door away from himself. “Sorry,” he muttered, and dragged the metal cart into the room. The door shut behind him.

Winston, who had been watching with a smile of amusement, gestured towards him. “Guys, this is Arthur Fishel, one of the brightest young minds at DevTech.”

“Please, call me Artie. It’s an honor to meet you all.” Artie was anywhere from twenty to twenty-five—though Voyd suspected he was on the lower end of this spectrum—and skinny, with a mop of dark curly hair and a long, thin face. He wore slacks and a blue button-down shirt with an undone black tie around the collar; she thought he probably didn’t realize it’d come undone.

“I’m—” Artie started to say something, but broke off as his eyes fixed on Screech’s broken wing. His eyes widened. His mouth dropped open. He stuttered.

“Is that—is that a Peterkin design?”

“Why, yes,” Screech replied, looking mildly startled. “You are familiar with him?”

“Familiar with him? I worship him! May I have a look?”

Screech nodded his consent and Artie rushed over, gently taking the broken wing in reverent hands and peering with wide eyes at its every intricacy. “The machinery… it’s so minute, so detailed… it’s fantastic! Are they as aerodynamic as they look?”

Screech seemed to be preening under the attention. “In fact, they are even more so.”

“How fast can you fly?”

“At my quickest, I have been clocked at eighty miles per hour.”

“And they’re wireless?”

“Yes, they are connected to my mind.”

“They behave just like a set of real bird wings, then?”

“They do indeed. At least, that is my experience.”

“Wow.” Artie was bent over and looking up at the wing at a very odd upside-down angle. “These things are miraculous.”

Screech looked more genuinely happy at the praise than Voyd thought she’d ever seen him look. “Yes, I thought so as well. Peterkin and I were very close.” He blinked at Artie curiously. “Do you believe you could repair my wing?”

Artie stepped back and looked at the wing, eyes narrowed and hand on chin; Voyd could see the cogs in his mind turning. Finally Artie said, “Actually, I think I could make something better.”

“Something better?” Screech said, sounding surprised and somewhat offended. “With no offense intended, Peterkin was the best. It is quite arrogant of you to assume you could improve upon his work.”

“Yeah, I know, but…” Artie squinted at the wings. “How long have you had ’em? Six years? Seven?”

“He designed them for me nine years ago.”

“No offense to you, but they’re a tad outdated.”

“Outdated!”

“Yeah. They’re beautiful,” Artie said hurriedly, “don’t get me wrong, but there are improvements that could be made. I could make them faster. More communicative and receptive to your commands. More modern, more lightweight. I can think of probably a dozen things I could make better. Of course, Peterkin’s work is incredible, but I bet even he would agree these wings need tinkering. Of course, I can just repair them and leave them as they are, if that’s what you want.”

Screech’s offense had seemed to dissipate, and the owlish super looked hesitantly intrigued. “If you truly believe you can do such a thing, I would be interested to see your work.”

“I’ll do what I can. I’ve already got a ton of ideas kicking around the old can.” He knocked a fist against his temple, then his eyes widened as he seemed to recall something. “You guys want to see the other tech I’ve designed?”

“Show them, Artie,” said Winston amusedly, turning to the supers. “I just hope this stuff impresses you like it impressed me.”

Heading back over to the metal cart, Artie pulled out a sleek, chrome-plated, gun-like object that looked quite futuristic, and was around the size of a handgun. “This is the Manta 1000,” the young inventor said eagerly, holding it out for everyone to see; the rising, early-morning sun through the window made it glimmer. “It’s still in the prototype stage, so I’m afraid you can’t use it just yet.”

“In recent years, we at DevTech have been interested in branching out into the technology and weapons markets,” Winston informed the supers. “On that front, Artie here has provided us with some very interesting material. Tell ’em what it does, Artie.”

The thought of Evelyn Deavor designing weapons made a chill run down Voyd’s spine, but she tried to push thoughts of the villain out of her mind as she listened to Artie explain the gun’s functions.

“It’s a plasma weapon, and it changes modes to fit the situation. It can freeze, melt, evaporate, provide a light source, pinpoint an accurate target to one thousandth of a millimeter, stun, kill, cut through anything below 10 on the Mohs scale, you name it. The Manta has fifteen different modes—whatever you need, it can do. Besides find you a girlfriend, of course.” Artie laughed at his own joke. The laugh petered off awkwardly as no one laughed with him.

“If I may ask, why is it called the Manta 1000?” Screech inquired.

Artie shrugged, looking slightly embarrassed. “Actually, the name doesn’t mean anything. I just thought it sounded cool.” He suddenly perked up. “Hey, is there anywhere in this facility that we can test this weapon? I’d love to show you guys what it can do!”

Winston hastily cut him off with a nervous chuckle. “Er, actually, Artie, I don’t think that’s the greatest idea. Why don’t you show them another one of your creations instead?”

“Sure, Mr. Deavor.” Artie replaced the gun back into the cart and pulled out another device, displaying it proudly. Voyd squinted at it, and it took her a minute to realize what it was. The object was like the headsets they’d been provided by the NSA, only it was so slender and sleek that it could be barely seen at all: just a few elegant, thin curves of metal as slim as spool wire, with a small microphone puff attached to the end meant to curl around the mouth.

“This is meant to aid communications,” Artie explained. “My own personal design, of course. It’s leagues ahead of anything else on the market currently. It may look weak…” Without warning, he smashed the device hard, several times, against the metal cart, producing a loud and wince-inducing noise. Voyd cringed, expecting the headset to emerge as a useless piece of dented metal—but when Artie lifted it again, it was undamaged. “…but it’s stronger than diamond,” he said proudly. “It’s ergonomically designed. It won’t fall off your head in flight or in battle. Won’t pinch your ears, either. Guaranteed static-free.”

“Compared to the junk the agency gave us, that sounds like a dream,” Reflux commented.

“I hope so, ’cos you guys are my guinea pigs. I’ve got one for each of you. Test ’em out for a few months, and if they perform well…” He paused, looking giddy. “Mr. Deavor, you can tell them.”

“I certainly can. If the headsets work out well for you supers, we’re gonna put them on the market within the next year. The same can be said for a ton of stuff Artie’s presented to us. He’s turned out to be invaluable. Best hire I ever made.”

“But my goal,” Artie said hastily, “isn’t to work at DevTech forever. No offense, Mr. Deavor. I’ve always wanted to help out with hero work. I dreamed of the day you guys were legal again. And now you are. And here I am. And if you guys like what you see, the NSA might hire me. At least, that’s what Mr. Deavor says.” He paused and nervously asked, “So, _do_ you guys like what you see?”

“If that headset works like you say it does, you’ll be our savior,” remarked Krushauer. “The NSA has only given us garbage.”

“So that’s a yes?” Artie inquired, eyes flicking to each super in turn.

“Hang on, Artie,” said Winston with an amused shake of his head. “You haven’t even shown them all your stuff yet.”

“Oh, right! There’s more!” The young inventor practically dove back to the metal cart and grabbed something from it.

Winston cast a glance at the supers. “Forgive him. He’s a little too enthusiastic. For good reason, too.”

“That’s okay! I’d love to see what other awesome stuff he’s got,” Voyd commented with a grin. She was loving the idea of having a headset that actually _worked_. A mystic, far-away dream.

Artie was unfolding what looked like a large, thin, gray blanket. He held it in front of himself, obscuring all of him but his eyebrows. “This is a cloaking device of my own invention. It can be stretched to cover anything, up to six hundred by six hundred square meters—or it can shrink to a smaller size; whatever your need is. I’ve designed it to camouflage with near-perfection. Watch this.” Artie’s hand reached out from the blanket, holding a small, black remote control with two buttons: one red and one green. He pressed the red button, and instantly, all of him disappeared except the top of his head and his extended hand. He withdrew his hand and ducked down, and all of him disappeared. What remained was a vaguely human-shaped lump in the air, which—if one looked very closely, as the Soaring Six were doing now—could be seen to have a faint, heat devil-like outline in the air.

The inventor’s disembodied voice floated out from nowhere. “Pretty neat, huh? At least, I think so. Sorry, though—it’s just a prototype. Not ready for use yet.”

Voyd was quite impressed, and Screech seemed to feel the same way when he spoke. “When you do develop a final product, I think all of us can agree that we would love to be the first to test it.”

The blanket reappeared again and Artie pulled it off of himself, revealing his grinning face. “Of course you will be. Anything I can do to advance the hero cause. Oh—I have two more things to show you. Won’t take long.”

He hastily folded the blanket and replaced it in the metal cart, and removed one more device which he presented to the heroes: a pair of black gloves. “What do those do?” Voyd asked.

“Um, actually, these are for you.” Artie was looking at He-Lectrix, to whom he held the gloves out; He-Lectrix came forward and took them, eyeing them curiously.

Artie watched the super with a gleam in his eye. “Wanna try ’em?”

Winston coughed. “Ahem, Artie…”

“Okay, Mr. Deavor, I get it. Never mind. Not a good idea.” Artie sounded disappointed and huffy, but he didn’t argue. “Just thought it would be cool to see’ em in action, that’s all. Anyway, they’re meant to channel your electrical powers more effectively—to make them stronger, easier to control. It’s all in the material. A fabric of my own design. My test subject was a Tesla coil, so…” He shrugged. “Dunno how well it’ll work on a person. But I hope it makes using your powers a little easier for you.”

“Easier to control,” He-Lectrix muttered half to himself, still staring at the gloves. “That sounds fantastic.”

“I’m working on a mouthpiece that will do the same for your lava powers,” Artie added, now looking at Reflux.

Reflux stared at him with a scowl. “Mouthpiece?”

“Yeah. Sort of like a retainer.”

“A _retainer_?” Reflux seemed to be restraining himself from going off on a tangent, and despite the stresses of the past day, Voyd just managed to stifle a giggle. The idea of Reflux with _orthodontia_ … it was almost too much to bear.

“Well, guys?” Winston went over to Artie and put an arm around the young inventor’s shoulders, regarding the supers with the look of a proud father. “Impressed?”

Screech spoke for all of them. “Quite.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank all you readers for holding on through all these annoying exposition chapters! I hope you enjoyed this anyway! The next chapter has Edna in it! :)


	13. Edna's Revenge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Do not mess with Edna. She has her ways.

Edna Mode never took late appointments—as Winston Deavor reported, her secretary had made that point quite clear on the phone—but she’d made an exception for the Soaring Six. That night, at around eight pm, and after most of the team had spent a work day at their various places of employment, they headed over to Edna’s mansion courtesy of Deavor’s luxurious private plane.

Voyd simply could not imagine the thought of wearing her makeshift “costume”—the leotard and leggings—to see Edna. It was just unthinkable. She wore civilian clothes instead, jeans and a blue T-shirt, the same outfit she’d worn all day at the pet store. It felt kind of weird to be dressed normally in front of her colleagues and Winston—she’d only done so only a few times before. She preferred them to see her dressed as Voyd, the superpowered hero. Not Karen, the Pawz-R-Us employee.

“So, guys. What’s the deal with those supervillains?” Winston was asking the question in the most serious tone he was probably capable of. “I didn’t get a chance to watch you fight them—not firsthand, anyway. I saw it all on the news later. What happened with that?”

Staring out the window as the darkened landscape rolled by underneath her, Voyd realized it was likely best if she told the story. She twisted in her seat to face Winston. “So, it was late yesterday night, and we got this alarm…”

She explained what had happened, recounting as best she could. Winston occasionally interrupted to ask a question, but otherwise was silent. When she was finished, the tycoon was frowning with hand on chin in a thoughtful way. “Huh. That’s pretty weird. I wonder if Artie could design some kind of shield or helmet to protect you guys from this villain’s powers.”

Somehow, in the back of her head, Voyd was pessimistic. She didn’t think anything could save them once Queen of Hearts decided she was going in for the kill. Call it instinct.  “Yeah, that would be great,” she said out loud instead, trying to remain positive.

“Never mind what they say on the news—I think you guys did a great job. But I do wonder if I could do something to help the public see you heroes in a better light. Maybe an interview, a talk show, something.”

“Does public not like us?” Brick asked hesitantly.

“Oh, no—that’s not what I meant,” Winston said hurriedly. “Just, it doesn’t seem like the media is being very kind to you at the moment. That can definitely be negative for public relations, that’s for sure. What do you guys think about the idea of an interview, anyway? Good? Bad? Undecided? Gimme a barometer here. How do you feel about it?”

Voyd thought an interview was long overdue. She recalled in vivid color all the times she’d watched Elastigirl—and other heroes, of course, but mostly Elastigirl—answer questions with a microphone shoved in her face, always retaining her easy smile, candid wit, and feminist sensibilities. Yeah, it was high time they interacted with the media—but Voyd couldn’t deny it filled her with a soul-sucking dread. Her dumb mug, huge and lifelike on every New Urbemite’s television, awkwardly being stupid for all to see? It was her personal hell. But the life of a superhero is public by definition, and she knew it couldn’t be avoided. Sooner or later, it would happen.

“Yeah,” she said with a bright smile that masked the fear, “I think that would be fine. What do you guys think?”

The other heroes muttered their acquiescence. No one seemed particularly enthused about it, but none of them outright said _no_.

 “Great,” said Winston with a smile. “I’ll see about arranging that.”

As the plane soared across the sky towards the Metroville urban area, the Soaring Six were a little quieter than usual; Winston did most of the talking. A little surprisingly for him, He-Lectrix was the quietest of them all. Voyd was worried for him, but she was also worried for the rest of her friends. They seemed… unsettled.

Voyd guessed it was because they were all plagued by doubts, courtesy of last night’s events. _She_ sure was. Guilt—could she have done more to capture the villains? Fear—when were they going to strike again, and how many people would suffer? Shame—everyone in New Urbem knew about their failings; how many civilians thought the Soaring Six were little more than a pathetic, makeshift band of posers? Of wannabes?

But Voyd tried her best to push those thoughts and feelings away, to remain positive and brave. Like H— _Elastigirl_ had said, it wasn’t about anybody’s approval. It was about helping as many people as they could. It didn’t matter if every single person in New Urbem hated her and her friends. They would continue serving, because they were heroes, and that’s what heroes _do_. Heroes serve. No matter what.

 

The jet landed smoothly, and the heroes made their exit. Voyd heard Reflux behind her muttering something along the lines of, “And if she insults me again _this_ time, oh boy, you want to bet I’ll smack her down so hard…”

Voyd winced as she headed down the stairs to the ground below. She hoped Reflux didn’t end up ‘smacking Edna down.’ Because she had absolutely no doubt that, if it came down to it, Edna could smack harder.

The short designer once again met them outside and led them in, through hallways and winding corridors, babbling all the way.

“Galbaki’s hobo suit, _dahling_ , I have preserved it, just as you requested. I see no reason why it should not go straight in the garbage, but I wish to preserve trust with my clients, and rest assured I would not throw a suit in the trash without your consent. Unless, of course, it is such a fashion emergency that it _must_ be disposed of for the good of humanity. Your suit is not such an emergency. It is miserable and hideous, yes, but…” Edna sniffed and shrugged. “Well, there is no _but_ , actually.”

“So you fixed it?” Voyd asked hesitantly, unconsciously wringing her hands.

Edna rolled her eyes. “Yes, _dahling_ , I mended the deplorable rag. But no matter. Once you see the work of genius I have created for you, there will be no room in your eyes or heart for anything else. And your fossilized friend—I have also created a suit for him.”

“Fossilized!” sputtered Reflux.

Edna ignored him. “Yes, I have materialized works for art for both of you,” she said with a rather frightening grin. “You will discover that unlike Galbaki’s, my designs are beautiful _and_ functional.”

They had reached a door in the hallway, beside which was a series of access tests: an eye scanner, a hand scanner, a number pad. Edna lowered her glasses and allowed her eyes to be scanned; scanned her hand; and punched in a series of numbers on the pad. She then spoke her name clearly into the microphone: “Edna Mode.”

Three gigantic guns descended from the ceiling without warning, each pointed directly at the Soaring Six and Winston. Voyd almost jumped a foot into the air, eyes wider than dinner plates.

“And guests,” Edna said smoothly into the mic. The guns disappeared back into the ceiling. Voyd clutched her chest, breathing hard.

Edna led the group into a huge, dark room. Scattered around were various large devices whose purpose Voyd couldn’t ascertain, but which were probably—just a wild guess—meant to assist Edna with designing superhero costumes. Two of the more recognizable devices in the room were four torso mannequins which stood against one wall.

“Come.” Edna beckoned the group over to one wall, which was entirely sheeted with a glass window. Behind the glass sat a long display area. Voyd blinked in awe. She’d heard about this from Elastigirl in one of their brief conversations, when the hero had described the process of visiting Edna Mode. So at least Voyd knew what to expect. Kind of. Putting it mildly.

There were two seats on a small platform that faced the wall, and Edna glanced at Voyd. “You first, my dear.”

Voyd sat down in one of the seats, Edna in the other. With her hands clasped on her knees, Voyd anxiously awaited what would happen next.

As their small platform began moving perpendicular with the wall, a mannequin emerged from the side of the display area and began keeping pace with them. It wore Voyd’s old suit, looking brand-new and perfect, just as she remembered it. Every single hole and burn mark was patched and fixed so flawlessly that one couldn’t tell there had been flaws in the first place. Her heart melted with relief. So Edna _hadn’t_ thrown it out after all. Not that Voyd didn’t trust Edna, but… well, she kind of didn’t, actually.

“This suit,” said Edna contemptuously, “is capable of absolutely nothing. It cannot protect you; at least, not any more adequately than street clothes could do. It cannot adapt to a climate or shift color. It can do _nothing_. I do not even wish to dignify it by describing its attributes. Nonetheless, _dahling_ , here it is, and it is yours. You’re welcome.”

“Thank you,” Voyd said with genuine gratefulness. “I really appreciate it.”

Edna made a small, disdainful noise of acknowledgement, and without warning, the platform sped back in the opposite direction, jerking Voyd and Edna back to the other side of the wall as the mannequin disappeared into who-knew-where. Voyd knew to expect this from Elastigirl’s warnings, but still, the suddenness shocked her, and she found herself gripping the sides of her seat hard to avoid being thrown off the platform entirely.

Another mannequin emerged, bearing an entirely new suit. Despite her loyalty to her old costume, Voyd couldn’t help the awe that warmed her chest. _Edna Mode_ had designed a suit _for her_!

Their platform began slowly heading to the right, and the mannequin kept pace once again. As Voyd kept staring at her new costume—a forest-green costume with blue gloves and boots, and a slashlike blue V on the chest—she slightly deflated. Oh. That was it? She didn’t want to admit it to herself—not about a legendary Edna Mode design, of all things! How could she be so ungrateful?—but… she didn’t really _like_ it.

“Your new suit,” Edna announced, gesturing at the costume, “is specially designed to withstand the forces of interdimensional travel without wearing down or losing mass from friction—a feature which I noticed your Galbaki suit did _not_ have. It is sewn out of densely-woven tirrinium fibers—one of the strongest materials on Earth. It will not tear or rip without a level of force that I doubt you will ever encounter.”

As Edna continued speaking, huge machine guns descended from the ceiling next to the suit and began pummeling it with gunfire; it remained unscathed. “It is more protective than a ten-inch layer of steel. And yet, it is as flexible and pliable as the softest silk; you will feel as though you are wearing nothing but air.”

She paused, casting a sidelong glance over at Voyd as if she expected the super to offer a comment.

“Um, that sounds awesome!” Voyd said with a smile she _hoped_ looked genuine. “Can’t wait to wear it!”

“Hmm,” said Edna with narrowed eyes, and Voyd almost winced, wondering if the costume designer saw right through her. The moment broke and Edna shrugged. “I will watch for you on the news reports, dear. I am sure you will look fabulous.”

Again without warning, the platform jerked back over to the left, with Voyd nearly knocked from her seat once again. When they’d slammed to a stop, Edna said, “Your geriatric friend is next. Shoo, _dahling_.”

As an agitated-looking Reflux gingerly sat down in the seat beside Edna, Voyd stood next to the rest of the supers and Winston, who were grouped nearby. Winston whispered cheerfully in her ear, “That new suit looks top-notch. Bet you’re excited.”

“Yeah…” she whispered back, trying to muster up some enthusiasm—and genuinely confused as to why she didn’t feel any. Edna Mode was a legend. Her suits were legendary. From how Edna had described Voyd’s new costume, it sounded like a super’s dream. And yet… Voyd wanted her old suit back. It was _her_. It was the suit she’d worn when she first started her super career, and even though that wasn’t all that long ago, she still felt intense nostalgia for the costume. She wasn’t nearly ready to let it go, and all of Edna’s insults toward the green-and-blue outfit had left a bad taste in her mouth. She didn’t like how the new suit looked—dark and foreboding, kind of threatening. Not _her_ at all.

She bit her lip, uncertain. It would be mindbogglingly stupid of her to reject Edna’s gift. And yet…

A blast of fire burst forth behind the glass, shaking Voyd out of her thoughts and causing her to reel backwards in shock.

Another suit was on a mannequin there, engulfed completely in the flames so that Voyd could barely see it. The platform was halfway across its track, and Edna was staring into the blaze, fire reflecting into her glasses and her mouth split into a wide, manic grin. “As you can see, your new suit can withstand heat of over one thousand degrees,” Edna told Reflux, who was looking at the flames with a not-totally-dismissive look on his face. “Your magma powers will have no damaging effect on this costume; you can feel free to use them at your discretion without worry.”

The flames subsided, revealing an undamaged bright red-and-yellow costume with a stylized orange R on the chest. Voyd had to admit, _this_ suit was spectacular-looking. Edna continued speaking: “As with your colleague’s, your suit is also made from tirrinium and will remain untarnished in the face of all but the most forceful attacks.” Once again, the guns descended from the ceiling and attacked the suit, with no visible results.

The guns disappeared and Edna turned to Reflux. “What do you think?”

Voyd fervently hoped that Reflux wouldn’t say anything rude. To her relief, the elderly super grudgingly admitted, “It’s… quite good. I like the colors.”

“The colors are spectacular,” Edna affirmed with a smug smile. “And the best part—no dangerous cape to snag or snatch you. I may have saved your life with this design, _dahling_.”

 

Not long afterward, Edna led the team plus Winston down a long hallway past many superhero costumes on display. “I have something to show you all,” she informed them. “It would not be nearly as sweet without other people to watch it with.”

“What wouldn’t be?” Voyd nervously inquired, but Edna brushed her off with a waved hand and a mischievous, slightly scary half-smile. “You will see, my dear.”

Edna led them into a small room with chairs against each wall, and a sleek color television mounted on one wall; currently, it was playing sports highlights. “Sit down, sit down!” Edna commanded, and everyone obeyed, finding a seat and looking at each other in confusion.

Edna picked up the television remote from its resting place on a nearby chair.

“I trust you are all aware of the recent comments made by that wretched senator and his talentless spawn?”

The utter contempt practically oozed from Edna’s mouth, and a sudden fear was struck into Voyd about what would happen next.

“Indeed, we witnessed it on the news,” Screech spoke up hesitantly.

“Good. As you will see, you have arrived at exactly the right time.”

The TV flashed to another channel with a flick of Edna's finger.

“—a fashion disaster for rising supermodel Mayanna Maple,” a glitzy entertainment reporter said with a knowing smile. “The young ingenue was visibly uncomfortable on the red carpet in Milan today, and—well, George, I think we should let our audience see for themselves.”

“Absolutely, Moira,” said her well-dressed co-anchor with a laugh. “This is the kind of thing that has to be seen to be believed. Take a look.”

The camera cut to a long catwalk, flanked by dozens of fashionable, rich-looking people in formal dress who sat and watched the debacle. Mayanna Maple stumbled down the runway in an outfit Voyd could only describe as one of the most hideous things she’d ever seen. She wore an orange parka vest over a long-sleeved patchwork-quilt-looking shirt that looked like it was probably meant for an expectant mother, made of dozens of different fabrics—neon and plaid and argyle—all stitched together in the worst possible way. She also wore a paisley skirt that was far too long, and her stiletto heels kept catching in its fringe. Her hair was done up in a particularly ratty perm.

Mayanna awkwardly careened down the catwalk, tripping and stumbling every few seconds with a look of utter embarrassment on her face. The entertainment reporters’ voices kept commenting over the disaster: “Mayanna was meant to work with veteran designer Alexander Galbaki for this show, but in an inexplicable last-moment switcheroo, she chose to wear another designer’s outfits instead. Now, we don’t have much information on this mystery designer—we don’t even know his name, just that he’s an unknown and relatively new to the fashion scene.” The female reporter guffawed. “As you can see, George.”

“Oh, I can see, Moira,” George chortled. “And this isn’t even the worst of it. Keep watching.”

Mayanna was now walking the catwalk in a different outfit. She wore huge, heart-shaped sunglasses that covered half her face, a pink top hat with a huge feather sticking out the side, a blue-and-pink and extremely unflattering dress whose fabric looked to Voyd as though it would itch immensely, and green platform boots that were far too high to walk safely on. Mayanna teetered. She tottered. And she fell over, crashing off the runway and landing on a woman in a white fur coat and her tuxedo-wearing husband, all of whom crashed to the floor along with her.

“I assume the mystery designer was you,” Krushauer said dryly as the reporters continued their roast on the television.

Edna shrugged carelessly. “I cannot confirm one way or the other, _dahling_.”

Moira was saying, “George, this fiasco might spell the end of Mayanna’s burgeoning career. I hear that several prominent designers have distanced themselves from her, and some say they aren’t likely to work with her in the future after this embarrassing incident.”

George _tsk_ ed. “A real shame, Moira. Well, in other news—”

“Perfect,” said Edna with all the charm of a coiled snake.

Voyd was kind of terrified.

“Um,” said Winston, nervously laughing and trying to make the best of the situation, as always. ”That’s certainly something, isn’t it? Poor girl.”

Edna fixed him with a narrow-eyed stare. “That _poor girl_ tarnished my brand. I cannot abide such slander.” Abruptly the coldness was gone, replaced with carelessness once again. “Well, your suits are finished and you are all satisfied. I look forward to working with you again in the future. I am hosting a gala at my home in a few days. You are all invited. You must come. I simply will not hear of anything else. Ciao, _dahlings_. Get out.”

Exchanging glances, the Soaring Six and Winston got up from their seats and made to leave.

“Just one more thing, _dahlings_ ,” Edna called to them as they filed out the door. Everyone turned back toward the diminutive designer questioningly.

She smiled an ambiguously-evil smile (and if there is such a thing, only Edna Mode is capable of it). “Do not hesitate to call me if you need anything more, my dears. I enjoy our visits.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love writing Edna.
> 
> Thank you for reading! And commenting! And leaving kudos! It warms my heart like a home-cooked Christmas meal!!! :)


	14. The Bowmans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some intrepid crimefighting and a revelation from Rick Dicker.

Two nights later, the Soaring Six headed out to fight crime once again, as was their duty, their calling, their career. Only this time, it was the Soaring _Five_ who patrolled the darkened streets of New Urbem. Artie hadn’t yet presented Screech’s new wings to him, and Screech was reluctant—even with much cajoling from his teammates—to perform hero work without the use of his wings.

“May I ask: if any one of you had lost an arm, or a leg, mere days ago, would _you_ be out on the streets?” he had asked, blinking at his friends.

Voyd only shrugged helplessly; can’t argue with that. “Well, no matter what, you’re welcome to join us. You know that, right?”

“Unfortunately, in this state, I believe I would merely be a burden. Go without me.”

And so, unable to argue with him, the rest left him behind.

Voyd and He-Lectrix were working together again, and Voyd was still slightly worried about her teammate. He was still a little quieter than usual. They stood leaning against opposite walls in a dark alley, their bike between them, wearing Artie’s fancy new headsets and waiting for their police scanners to come to life.

After several minutes of silence, Voyd ventured, “Are you okay?”

He shook his head, as if coming out of a stupor. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

She paused and then cautiously asked, “It’s not about shocking that lady, right? You know that’s not your fault, don’t you?”

Only a little light made its way into the alley from the storefronts and streetlamps outside. Half of He-Lectrix’s face was thrown into sharp relief, and the other half was shrouded in darkness. “Nah,” he said. “I’m fine.”

“Um, I don’t mean to pry or anything, but I don’t think you _are_ fine. You’re not acting like yourself.”

He was silent for a moment. “Yeah,” he finally admitted. “I’ve been thinking about it. I’ve been thinking about how I’ll never do anything like that again. Never hurt anybody like that again. I swear to god.”

“But it was an accident. You couldn’t have stopped it.”

She was trying to reassure him, but it had the opposite effect. “That doesn’t really help, Voyd,” he said with a wry smile.

“Sorry,” she said awkwardly.

He-Lectrix changed the subject, and she couldn’t blame him for it. “About _that_ ,” he said, pointing at… her body in general. “What’s the deal?”

She blinked in confusion, wondering what he was talking about, before she came to a realization. “Oh, yeah. I just… yeah.”

Voyd was wearing her old suit. The new costume Edna had designed for her was currently lying in a box under one of the beds at the SJP, unused. She had tried it on once, hoping that actually seeing it on her body would change her attitude about it. Nope. It just made her mind up even firmer.

“You hate the new suit,” He-Lectrix assumed. “Yeah?”

“Um.” She waffled, with a smile that was more like a wince. “I wouldn’t say _hate_ …”

“I think you hate it.”

“Yeah,” she admitted, slumping over slightly. “I hate it.”

“Well, take it back to Edna and tell her you hate it. She’ll make you a new one. Easy.”

“Uh, you’re joking, right?”

“Yes. I’m joking. I don’t want you to get drawn and quartered.”

She let out a sharp breath, causing a stray strand of blue hair to puff into the air. “I feel crummy about this. I mean, it’s _Edna Mode_. She’s like… a god or something. It’s any super’s dream to wear one of her outfits. How can I _hate_ the costume she made me? I feel so ungrateful. I should just give up and wear the darn thing.”

“But you’re not,” he observed.

“But I’m not.” She looked down at herself, the blue-and-green costume with its bright colors and its beautiful logo, the costume that was so _her_. “I can’t explain it. I just can’t give this suit up.” She exhaled again, and tried to stay optimistic. “Maybe Edna will never find out, and I can just keep going out dressed like this. Right?”

“ _Right_ ,” said He-Lectrix sarcastically. “Edna will never know and everything will be fine. C’mon. You know better than that.”

She shrugged, but it was true. She did know better.

Their police scanners came alive as one, each emitting a long string of garbled noise. Instantly on alert, Voyd listened carefully, trying to discern the meaning of the staticky jumble. Not long ago, the sound of the police scanner would’ve struck excitement into her: would they get a chance to put their powers into use and do some hero work? Now, though, she only felt a burst of fear, terrified that the two supervillains that haunted her dreams had made a comeback.

The fear left, replaced by boredom. “Cops caught a shoplifter,” He-Lectrix said, just as Voyd discerned the words herself.

She leaned back against the wall, off-alert again.

Voyd had discovered in the last few months of being a super that hero work wasn’t all she’d thought it would be. This wasn’t necessarily a bad thing—just _different_. There was a lot less glitzy crimefighting complete with clever quips and daring rescues, and a lot more standing around and waiting for something to happen.

To alleviate the boredom, she hopefully asked He-Lectrix, “Hey, you wanna go out and drive around?”

“Show ourselves off to our adoring public, you mean? Sure. I’m up for that. Maybe we’d better wait a few minutes to make sure nothing big happens on the police scanners, though.”

“Yeah,” she agreed. “Sounds like a plan.”

She noticed he was mindlessly stroking one of his wrists. “Are you wearing those new gloves?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged. “Thought it couldn’t hurt. We’ll see how they work. If they give me more control, well…”

He trailed off, Voyd knew very well those words that remained unspoken. He was still seized with guilt over what had happened to the woman he’d electrocuted—and, more than likely, terrified over the prospect of a lawsuit. To be honest, so was Voyd. It was lawsuits that had sent heroes into hiding back in the twilight of the glory days, and she couldn’t stand the thought of history repeating itself.

The two superheroes and their motorcycle were relatively far back in the alley, shrouded in shadow, and that might have explained why the two muggers didn’t notice the heroes when they shoved their target into the alleyway.

Voyd watched—initially, for a few moments, not comprehending what she was seeing—as two burly masked men intercepted a smaller, suit-wearing gentleman who was walking by and pushed him into the alleyway. He impacted hard against the brick wall with a grunt, and one of the men pushed him even farther in, where he fell against the ground, dazed.

“Money. Cash,” snapped one of the crooks. It was a clear demand.

The man stared up at them, looking confused. “I don’t…”

The other robber scowled. “Suit like that? You’re loaded. Hand over the cash.”

“I—I don’t have any—”

One of the muggers kicked him in the ribs, hard, and he cried out in pain.

Voyd and He-Lectrix had already assumed defensive stances, and at this point, Voyd was fuming; she decided she’d seen enough. She stepped forward, further into the light. “Hey, guys? Pick on someone your own size,” she said loudly and firmly.

The crooks’ heads snapped towards her, as did their victim’s. To their credit, these particular bad guys were smart enough not to tangle with superheroes. They instantly turned tail and began to flee.

“No you don’t!” Voyd threw out her hands. A portal formed under one of the criminals. The ground fell out from under his feet and he landed in a heap right in front of Voyd and He-Lectrix. She quickly did the same to his rapidly-fleeing friend, who also emerged in front of them.

The two blinking, balaclava-clad evildoers quickly realized that they couldn’t run away from this situation—not while Voyd was there, at least. One of them stumbled to his feet and produced a rather large, threatening-looking police baton from his waistband, holding it like a baseball bat.

“Back the hell off, or I start swinging,” he threatened. “Let us go and there won’t be any more trouble.”

“Well, you’re right about one thing,” said He-Lectrix casually. “There _won’t_ be any more trouble.”

He lifted his hands.

Voyd had always thought that He-Lectrix had the _prettiest_ powers of the team, odd as that might sound. There was always something mesmerizing about the sight of hundreds of branches of luminous blue lightning, pure deadly electricity, emerging from his hands as easily as water from a tap. This time, however, something had changed. The power was amplified. The branches were more numerous and more controlled, flying in a direct, continuous stream straight towards his targets like a beam of concentrated energy. It was a sight to behold. The alleyway was briefly lit as brightly as though it were daytime.

He aimed one hand at one of the criminals, the other at the second. Both were knocked off their feet and fell to the ground, twitching and steaming slightly, but otherwise unmoving.

“Um,” said Voyd nervously. “Did you _kill_ them?”

He-Lectrix was staring at his gloved hands with a newfound appreciation. “Nah,” he said absentmindedly. “They’ll be sore tomorrow, though.”

Voyd knelt beside one of the men, checking the pulse at his neck; to her relief, she found it was beating strongly.

He-Lectrix said, “If I’d _needed_ to kill them, though, I think it would have been easy. These gloves… they’re something else. I’ve never felt power like that before.”

Further ahead in the alleyway, the dazed victim had gotten to his feet and was staring at the supers, seeming unsure of what to do.

“Sir, do you need help?” Voyd called to him, wondering if his head had been damaged when he’d been shoved.

The short, balding man shook his head. “No, I’m all right…” With hesitation, he added, “Thank you. Thank you very much. I don’t know how to repay you.”

Voyd was struck with sudden bashfulness, and she rubbed the back of her neck awkwardly. “It’s okay. It’s just what we do.”

The man stumbled out of the alley without a further word.

“He’ll have quite the story to tell when he gets home,” He-Lectrix commented with a wry grin.

Not long after, they’d hailed two passing policemen and directed them to the groaning, slowly-awakening, dazed criminals who waited for their handcuffs in the alley. Voyd wheeled their bike around the criminals and out of the alley, onto the sidewalk outside, to make it easier for the police to do their thing.

As they stood outside of a closed deli, Voyd opened her mouth—about to suggest they drive around patrolling the streets, like they’d planned earlier—when an excited voice in her ear interrupted her thoughts.

“Is that a police car? What did I miss?”

There was indeed a police car parked beside them, lights silently flashing. It belonged to the officers who were currently reading the muggers their Miranda rights.

“Hey, Winston. You didn’t miss much,” Voyd said. “Just a mugging.”

“You guys stopped a mugging and I missed it?” The tycoon sounded disappointed. “I was in meetings all day. I just escaped now. Did I miss anything else of note?”

“Nah, not really. How about the rest of you guys?” He-Lectrix was addressing the other Soaring Six. They all sounded off, and none of them had much of anything to add. It had been a quiet night.

Winston eagerly asked to be filled in about the mugging, and Voyd and He-Lectrix related the story. “…and at the end, the guy we saved didn’t seem to know what to do,” Voyd finished, almost talking to herself at this point. “He kind of seemed… I don’t know. Grateful, but at the same time, afraid of us.”

“Hmm.” Winston sounded thoughtful, and she could hear the frown in his voice. “I wonder if our campaign is still working. We’re still regularly releasing videos of your exploits to the public, you know, but…”

He trailed off.

“But what?” This question came from Krushauer, who asked it pointedly.

“But,” Winston said uncomfortably, “it doesn’t seem to be working quite as well as before. Approval polls seem to show that the public is just as wary of superheroes as they were a month ago. Sure, the numbers have improved from this time last year, but the rise isn’t all that significant, to be honest. And…”

“C’mon, spit it out,” said He-Lectrix warily.

“Well, I don’t want to get you guys’ spirits down, but after that Dehydra incident, it seems the people’s opinion does seem to be turning in the opposite direction. According to the polls. But,” and the billionaire’s voice grew cheerful once again, “I’m still confident that we can turn things back around with some good old-fashioned public relations magic. Don’t worry—I haven’t given up on you guys yet, and neither has the majority of the public. Things don’t look fantastic, but they’re not bleak yet, either. We have some leeway.”

“Exactly how much leeway?” Voyd inquired delicately.

“Well, last week, forty-six percent of those polled approved of hero work remaining legalized. Today, new polls suggested the number had fallen closer to forty-one percent. Once again, I’ve got to stress: that’s not terrible. It’s not ideal, but it’s not a precipitous fall, either. So don’t worry.”

To Voyd, it _did_ sound terrible. Not even half of all citizens of New Urbem seemed to approve of them… She resolved to do better. If the people didn’t love her and her friends, well, it was no one’s fault but her own.

Suddenly, another voice interrupted on their headsets. “Mr. Deavor, if you don’t mind, I’ve got some sensitive information to share with the supers.”

It was the gruff voice of Rick Dicker. Winston immediately said, “No problem, Rick. See you all later. Oh, wait! Before I go for the night, I have something to share with you all. I’m hosting a superhero gala in a few weeks. Details are tentative—date, time, location, all that. But I’m planning to invite all the international supers who were present for the last party. Which, as you’ll remember, didn’t go all that well.” His laugh awkwardly petered off. “Anyway. I’m hoping to make up for past mistakes. This party will be as spectacular as money can buy. I hope you guys can attend. I’d love to have you there! Wouldn’t be a party without you!”

Despite all her worries, Voyd couldn’t help but be excited at the prospect, and she smiled just thinking about it. She hadn’t gotten to know all the awesome international supers before they’d gone back to their home countries, but now could be her chance. “That sounds great, Winston! I hope we can make it!” she said excitedly.

“Perfect! I’ll get off the line now.” Something crackled and Winston was gone.

“Now that we’re alone, I have something important to discuss with you,” Rick’s growly voice continued. “As I mentioned, the information is sensitive. Classified. So if you don’t mind, I’d like you all to return to the Center immediately and meet with me to discuss this matter.”

Rick’s urgency caused a witch’s brew of worry to start bubbling in Voyd’s stomach. What could be wrong? “We’ll be there as soon as we can, Mr. Dicker,” she promised.

Over her new-and-improved headset, she heard her friends also agreeing. Within minutes, they had sped on their bikes through the streets of New Urbem back to the SJP on top of the hill.

Not long afterward, the Soaring Six—including Screech, who had returned from his home to take part in the meeting—sat in the common room, anxiously and curiously regarding Rick Dicker. The black-suit-wearing, stern-looking National Supers Agency agent stood beside the wall-mounted television, regarding the Soaring Six with his customary unintelligible frown.

“As you all know, we at the NSA have been spending time trying to convince the Central Intelligence Agency to allow us to access their facial recognition technology, which is far more advanced and modern than our own.” Rick cracked a slight smile. “Well, score one for inter-agency diplomacy. We’ve finally managed to convince them to grant us access. As such, we have tentatively identified the supervillains who attacked the international airport and the Houghton Heights mall.”

Voyd’s jaw nearly fell to the floor. This was _huge_. Reflux cried loudly, “Well, don’t keep us waiting, man! Who in blazes are they?”

Rick clicked on the television with the remote in his hand. A photograph appeared in the left-hand side of the screen. It appeared to be a school photo, taken of a smiling girl in uniform. With long blonde hair, she was skinny, friendly-looking, and couldn’t have been more than fifteen.

Voyd recalled the determined, emotionless villain who’d destroyed a whole mall, who’d blasted Krushauer and Brick away like feathers in the wind. When she looked at this slender kind-eyed teenager, Voyd just couldn’t imagine they were the same person.  

“Julie Bowman,” Rick intoned. “High school student. Adopted daughter of Noreen Bowman.” He clicked the button again, and another picture appeared in the right-hand side of the screen: the headshot of a middle-aged brown-haired woman, wearing a smile that didn’t meet her eyes. _Eye_ , actually - this woman only had one. The other was absent, a scarred gash taking its place.

“I know her!” Krushauer exclaimed; everyone turned to him in surprise. The super instantly schooled himself back into neutrality again. “That older woman, Noreen Bowman, she’s a romance novelist. I know her well.”

He-Lectrix raised an eyebrow. “A romance novelist? You know her well?”

“I work in marketing. I’m aware of many big players in the media, including the publishing industry,” said Krushauer with indifference.

“Oh, I’m sure. You probably read her books by lamplight every night and blush the whole while,” Reflux playfully teased.

“Not hardly,” said Krushauer disdainfully, though Voyd didn’t believe him. “Can we please focus on the subject at hand?”

“Yes, let’s get back on track,” said Rick Dicker admonishingly. Everyone sheepishly turned back towards Rick and the television, where the two females’ innocent-looking photographs graced the screen.

“Your teammate is right. Noreen Bowman is one of the world’s most prominent romance novelists. In fact, she has amassed a billion-dollar fortune from her prolific writing. As we suspected, these villains have vast resources backing them up.” His voice took on a harsh tone of warning. “As such, you’ve got to exercise extreme caution and carefulness in dealing with these two. They can afford the most advanced technology and gadgets out there, enough to make them two of the most dangerous villains alive.”

Voyd’s guts clenched as though a fist had tightened around them. Finding out the evildoers’ true names and faces hadn’t done much to alleviate her worries so far.

“Does the discovery of these villains’ identities shed any light on their reasons for these nefarious acts?” Screech asked.

Rick shook his head. “No. There’s not much in either villain’s past that would suggest motive. Our agents are still researching their pasts, but we’re not confident.”

“So what do we do now?” This question came from Brick.

“I’ll tell you. Details are still tentative, but at least we know these villains’ home address now, which should help us immensely. The mother and daughter live on a large estate in the middle of a huge parcel of land on the Mexico-California border. I want you to investigate this estate on the weekend. First, the NSA will verify that they’re not home—to the best of our ability, of course. Then, we’d like you supers to infiltrate the mansion and search for whatever pertinent information you can find regarding their motivations and plans. After that, we’ll reconvene and discuss next steps. Sound agreeable?”

Now wasn’t the time for fear—now was the time for action. Now was the time to make sure no more innocent people got hurt. Voyd’s lips pursed determinatedly. “We won’t let you down, Mr. Dicker,” she promised, and meant every word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was gonna release this tomorrow but I thought why the hell not today. Chapter updates may become sparse in the next few weeks and months or however long it takes to write this darn thing, because school has started and I will be a busy bee. But I promise I'll get the story done no matter how long it takes. I'm always at least one or two chapters ahead. :)
> 
> As always, thank you very much for reading.


	15. Easy as Pie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Screech tests out his new wings, everyone hangs out, and Elastigirl makes an appearance.

It was difficult to concentrate on everyday life when the threat of Heartless and Queen of Hearts was looming over her head—and the knowledge that, in just a few short days, she’d be infiltrating their lair with the others. But Karen _did_ have a life, and she _did_ have to concentrate on it. So she did her best.

She spent most of the next day working her shift at Pawz-R-Us. Karen was admittedly grateful she worked a calm job at a small store. When she was 17, she’d briefly had a job in a warehouse. Got fired after a week for “mishandling the forklift recklessly.” Her face still turned red at the memory. She wasn’t the most _coordinated_ person in the universe. And that particular job had been loud and noisy and strenuous. This, though? Shampooing dogs, giving them haircuts, and occasionally restocking shelves with pet treats, leashes and Kongs? Practically Shangri-La in comparison.

 In the back of her head, as she busily clipped and snipped and scrubbed, Karen held out a hope—stupid, silly, and barely even acknowledged by herself—that Daisy would come into the store. She knew it was unlikely. Rufus wasn’t due for another clipping for more than a week. But still. Karen sometimes allowed herself to drift into daydreams. Daisy would come in. Karen would be, for once in her life, confident and careless. She’d ask Daisy for a date. Daisy would happily accept. Bingo.

She knew it would never happen, though. The very thought was stupid. The thought that she could possibly work up enough guts to ask someone out—especially someone as gorgeous as Daisy—and, worse, that Daisy would actually say yes. Her heart was in her throat at the idea. And even if she did manage to stumble her way to success, what then? She’d likely mess up the date so badly that Daisy would switch to another pet groomer altogether and they’d never see each other again.

Nah, it was just fantasy. But still, it was a _nice_ fantasy.

She didn’t have to find out, because Daisy never arrived. Just as she’d expected. When four o’clock rolled around with no sign of her, Karen allowed her fantasy to slip away for the day. With a sigh and a bitten lip, she clocked out and left Pawz-R-Us. Another day, another miniscule paycheck.

Not long afterward, Voyd, suited up in her blue-and-green costume, pushed open the doors of the SJP. She hadn’t expected to see what she saw there in the common room. Screech sat on an ottoman, and Artie Fishel stood behind him, adjusting a brand-new pair of wings that were strapped to Screech’s back.

As soon as he saw her, Screech smiled widely and lifted a clawlike hand. “Greetings! You’re just in time!”

“Wow,” she exclaimed, entering the common room and sitting on a couch nearby Screech. “Are those your new wings? Sorry, probably a stupid question.”

“Not at all. Yes, these are they. Our new friend is a very speedy and conscientious worker. He tells me he worked without sleep for two days to create these for me.”

Artie was biting his lip hard in concentration as he carefully adjusted the wings such a miniscule amount that Voyd could barely tell they’d been adjusted at all. “And—there. That should do it.” He stepped back and proudly surveyed his work. “Not bad, huh?”

Screech twisted his head 360°—gosh, Voyd must’ve seen him do that a hundred times and it still made her wince—to regard the wings that were now on his back. “Gracious, they look even better there than they did when you first showed them to me.”

Voyd had to admit, she was impressed. Screech’s new wings were less owl-like than his last pair: these were sleek, cool metal, lacking any feathers. They unfolded in segments, and Screech was able to control their every twitch with his mind, or so it seemed. They flexed, opened and closed as Screech tested them out; he didn’t unfurl them to their full span, but Voyd estimated they’d probably be around ten feet long from tip to tip if he did. Voyd thought they looked pretty awesome, but that was for Screech to judge, not her.

“They can fold to fit in a backpack, if that’s what you need,” Artie revealed. “They’re super lightweight, yet just about as durable as I could make ’em. They’ll hold up in battle.”

“Yes, they are incredibly light,” Screech commented as he flexed the wings once again. “I can scarcely feel them. With all respect to Peterkin—” The owl-like super looked apologetic as he said the words. “—his wings were rather heavy and cumbersome compared to these.”

“So I managed to _improve_ on Peterkin?” said Artie with reverence. “Please say yes.”

Screech seemed unwilling. “If you don’t mind, I will refrain from answering this question for the time being. I haven’t had the opportunity to adequately put your invention to the test. I would like to enter the gymnasium and truly test what your invention can do.”

Artie grinned. “Absolutely. I’d love to see how they perform on a living test subject. I hope you have as much fun with those wings as I did designing ’em.”

“We shall see. Voyd, would you care to join us?”

“Sure!”

Voyd followed Artie and Screech to the gym. Two of the team—He-Lectrix and Brick—were practicing within: Brick was doing strength training, while He-Lectrix was using his electrical power on the provided dummies. They both stopped and waved hello as the others entered.

“If I may ask, are they flight-ready?” Screech asked Artie as they entered the gym.

“Absolutely. Test ’em out whenever you want.”

“I believe I will do so immediately. If you don’t mind, would both of you stand back?”

Voyd and Artie both took a few steps away, and Screech’s wings extended to their full span. As Voyd had anticipated, the result was probably ten feet of smooth, blemishless metallic wings.

“How’s the neural connection feel?” Artie asked eagerly.

The wings twitched. “Flawless,” Screech responded with a smile.

He-Lectrix and Brick had both given up on their activities and approached, watching closely. “That’s something else,” He-Lectrix commented.

“They are beautiful. But how is flying?” Brick asked.

“That is the important bit, is it not?” said Screech. “I’ll test it now. If everyone wouldn’t mind standing clear, in case of malfunction.”

Despite the fact that no one was standing close to Screech, everyone took a few steps back nonetheless. Artie looked somewhat miffed at the suggestion of a malfunction, but he didn’t say anything about it.

Screech crouched and got a running start. He didn’t have to cross even halfway to the other side of the gym before his wings—barely flapping—brought him soaring into the air. Screech’s flight looked effortless, and he sailed around the gym, dipping and rising with ease. After a few moments of basic flight, the super was comfortable enough to try more complex maneuvers—loops, sharp turns, playing chicken with the floor. It all seemed unchallenging.

“How’s it feel?” Artie asked—more like, demanded—as Screech continued to swoop though the air.

“Splendid,” Screech called to him with genuine glee as he looped upside-down.

Voyd couldn’t help but smile as she watched him. It was great to see her friend back to his old self again, especially since he’d seemed so down about the breakage of his old wings.

“Voyd, if you wouldn’t mind,” Screech called out.

Voyd was confused for a few moments before she realized what he was asking of her. “Oh, right, sure!” She raised a hand. As Screech flew along, a portal opened in front of him. He swooped through it and emerged on the other side of the gym. This continued for a few minutes, just as they’d practiced a few days before. Screech moved so fast, he was a blur at some points, and Voyd was genuinely afraid he’d hit a wall.

Artie watched his invention in motion with reverence. “Jesus, they work even better than I’d imagined,” he breathed, seemingly talking to himself.

Finally, Screech landed, the wings folding neatly as he did so.

“So? Satisfied?” Artie asked, seeming anxious for the answer.

“More than satisfied. There is less drag, less resistance, and I can fly at speeds of which I’d never dreamed before. To use a colloquialism, it was as easy as pie.”

Artie smiled from ear to ear. “I’m glad to hear it.”

“I will be proud to wear these for years to come. If they continue to work as well as they did today, I can’t say the NSA would be in error if they hired you immediately. Lord knows they need people like you in that agency.”

Artie looked at the floor and turned slightly red, suddenly embarrassed. “Aw, it was nothing.”

“It’s not nothing,” said Screech almost indignantly. “You’ve saved my career. Thank you. I truly mean it.”

“Sorry to butt in,” He-Lectrix interrupted, “but I’ve got something to say about these gloves. They’re great. They work like a charm.” He cracked a knowing half-smile. “If you can design something like that for all of us, I think even Reflux would put up with wearing a retainer in public.”

“Well, I’m glad to help you supers out any way that I can.” The young inventor smiled sheepishly. “I’m just glad you guys are back. Anything I can do to help, I’ll do.”

Screech was frowning, and looked like he was embroiled deep in thought. “I would very much like to test my top speed with these new wings. I believe I may have broken my personal record today, but as we were not measuring, it is impossible to tell.”

“Um,” said Artie hastily, “sounds like a great idea, but maybe do it someplace else _other_ than this gym.”

Screech blinked at him. “Of course. If I impacted these walls at the speeds of which I am capable, I would sadly become a Screech pancake.”

Voyd tried not to awkwardly giggle at the idea of a Screech pancake.

 

Artie left not long afterward, and the team took some time to relax and unwind before heading out to do hero work for the night, as was their custom. Though Voyd couldn’t get her latent anxiety completely out of her mind, she found herself _somewhat_ letting go as she laughed and chatted with her friends, which was a relief. Somewhere during the course of the evening, she realized something. She really _was_ starting to consider these people to be her friends. The awkwardness was still there, sure—to be honest, Voyd was slightly awkward with pretty much everyone, even her closest friends. But she really felt like she could relax and be herself around the rest of the Soaring Six.

As Voyd and He-Lectrix animatedly discussed a recent movie that had come out—Voyd loved it, He-Lectrix not so much—Voyd began to notice, out of the corner of her eye, that Reflux was sitting alone. Usually, Krushauer or maybe Brick were the loners of the group, but they were talking and laughing, too. Reflux looked disconnected and confused, and Voyd felt a sudden pang of pity for the old guy. She wondered what was wrong and whether or not she could help.

“Um, just gimme a minute, okay?” she said to He-Lectrix, breaking off their conversation. She went over to Reflux and sat beside him on the couch which rested against the window, her back against the whole of New Urbem. “Hey. Anything wrong?” she asked the elderly super.

He shook his head. “No,” he replied gruffly. “Go back to your conversation. Nothing’s wrong with this old coot.”

She almost got up and left him, but something in her gut told her to keep questioning. “Aw, c’mon,” she gently prodded. “If something’s not right, you can tell me. We’re a team, right? I care about you.’

He was silent a few moments. Then, the old man admitted, “Sometimes, y’know… I just get lost. These conversations, they’re too new-fangled for an old-timer like me. I don’t know about the latest gadgets or the cool new movies.” He shrugged, scowling and not meeting her eye. “I’m the oldest one here, and sometimes it’s hard not to really _feel_ that.”

It was the most vulnerable Reflux had ever been with her, and she was totally unsure of how to respond—a common theme whenever anybody was vulnerable with Voyd. She opened her mouth and closed it, a false start, as she considered how to reply. He was _right_. The rest of them _did_ often talk about stuff that an old person might not necessarily know about. But Voyd didn’t know what subjects Reflux _would_ know about, other than… well… various old wars, she supposed.

Finally she ventured, “It’s okay. Sometimes I feel that way too.”

He grunted. “Yeah.”

“It’s true! Sometimes people talk about stuff I have no clue about. I just listen and nod and smile.” She shook her head. “I had no idea you felt that way. I’m sorry. I promise we’ll try our best to include you—okay?”

It was a promise that Voyd didn’t know if she could keep, but she just wanted Reflux to feel better for the moment. The old man grunted yet again, and she was unsure whether she’d convinced him, but it was a start.

“Why don’t you come over and sit with us?” she asked hopefully. “Even if you don’t get what we're saying, there’s no point in you being all alone over here.”

Grudgingly and slowly, Reflux made his way over to the little circle of chairs where she, He-Lectrix and Screech were sitting, coaxed all the way by Voyd. Voyd tried her best to include him in the conversation, telling him all about the movie they were discussing so he’d at least have an understanding of what they were talking about. For his part, Reflux made an effort too, awkwardly commenting on the film from time to time.

Even if the situation wasn’t perfect, Voyd hoped it would get better. Maybe when they were out of their costumes, she could take Reflux out to a movie sometime.

 

That night, they were the Soaring _Six_ yet again. Screech rejoined the team with aplomb.

Voyd was paired up with Brick, and they decided to ride their bike around New Urbem, looking for trouble. (Not to _cause_ it, but to _stop_ it, of course.) As with other nights, there weren’t very many citizens out on the streets, but those who were present didn’t—as Voyd had feared in the back of her mind—display fear or rejection. As they window-shopped or walked down the street, people turned at the purring of Voyd and Brick’s motorcycle and pointed and smiled and waved as the supers passed by. Voyd hesitantly waved back. It was good to know some people still loved them.

“Maybe Winston’s polls not right,” Brick commented as the sidewalks rushed past them.

“Maybe,” Voyd replied cautiously. She still wasn’t convinced.

At around 8 pm, having not found any trouble to tackle, Voyd and Brick settled on a rooftop, waiting for their police scanner to buzz as the sun’s last vestiges disappeared on the horizon. Half an hour passed with no activity, and finally, Voyd heaved a huge sigh. “Gonna be a boring night,” she commented to Brick.

“You think?”

The responding voice didn’t come from Brick, and both supers whirled around to view its source. What Voyd saw made her jaw drop. It was Elastigirl. The red-headed superhero was wearing her crimson-and-black costume with gloved hands on hips, and she grinned at Voyd and Brick.

Voyd was struggling to pick her jaw off the floor. “Y-You…” she stuttered.

“Yup, it’s me.”

“B-But I thought you were on vacation!”

Elastigirl shrugged. “Sure, my husband and I agreed that we’d hold back on crimefighting to focus on our family, but we never agreed we couldn’t moonlight now and then. And I was feeling antsy. Mind if I join you?”

 _Mind_? Voyd was over the moon. Was this a dream? She tried, unsuccessfully, to hide her equal delight and terror. “Y-Yeah! No problem!”

At that very moment, the police scanner at her hip began to emanate static and stern words. A hold-up at the New Urbem First Bank! Elastigirl looked at Voyd and Brick with a smile. “Ready for some action?”

No, Voyd was assuredly not ready. To fight crime with _Elastigirl_? The very thought was breathtakingly ridiculous. But it was now or never. “Yeah, we’d better go!” she declared with a wavering confidence she didn’t feel, and she created a portal so she, Brick, and Elastigirl (holy cow) could safely head down to the street below.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Foreshadowing! Foreshadowing everywhere! (Well, not everywhere. Only in some very specific places. I will leave you to guess what those are.)
> 
> Thank you very much for sticking with the story! I hope you continue to enjoy it! :)


	16. The Pin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An interview with Chad Brentley.

She. Had fought crime. As a hero. With _Elastigirl_.

The thought kept running through her head like an unchained stray dog.

Karen’s eyes kept closing and her head kept drooping as she worked her soapy fingers through the thick fur of a dopey St. Bernard. She was utterly exhausted. That hold-up had lasted a few hours, and then there had been a train derailment, and then there was an escaped convict running around Greenwood Hills, and then a villain had attempted to bomb the town hall, and she had stopped it all in a successful night’s work. With _Elastigirl_.

It had been a crazy night for the team—almost crazy enough to make up for the _many_ boring, restless nights she’d spent just waiting for something to happen. It was like Elastigirl attracted crime like a magnet. She certainly attracted _Voyd_ like a magnet. Voyd had been up until five in the morning combating crime, only to head to work for a nine o’clock shift, and this was clearly not permanently doable, but she’d do it all over again because _holy hell she’d worked with Elastigirl_. The only thing keeping her awake was the shock of it all. The red-headed superhero from the glory days was just as awe-inspiring in action as anyone would expect. Still the gold standard, even after 15 years. Karen kept replaying moments in her head, over and over again, giddy.

Karen fell asleep dreaming of last night. She was awoken by the simultaneous stimulants of the St. Bernard’s lick on her cheek, and a tight hand gripping her shoulder.

“Karen,” said a stern voice.

It was Jeanie. Karen jerked out of her slumber, instantly snapping awake, and looked up at her boss sheepishly. “Um, sorry.”

“Something wrong?” asked her thin, rather vulture-like employer. “Late night?”

“N-No, not really. I’m okay. Sorry.” She instantly returned to scrubbing the fur of the soapy dog who sat obediently in his plastic tub.

“I’ve never known you to fall asleep on the job before.” Her boss peered down at her suspiciously. “You _sure_ nothing’s wrong?”

“Absolutely not,” Karen insisted. “I’m fine. Really. It won’t happen again.”

“Hmm.” Jeanie slowly sauntered away, commenting over her shoulder, “That happens again and you might get fired, you know.”

Jeanie wasn’t _mean_ , not really—she was just a very no-nonsense, tell-it-like-it-is person who didn’t accept any sort of failure. Well, okay, maybe she was sort of mean, even though Karen usually liked to look for the good in everyone. Karen took Jeanie’s threat seriously, with a lump rising in her throat at the idea of losing her job. She was barely paying her bills as it was.

Karen absentmindedly bit her lip hard as she continued scrubbing the dog clean. She knew that staying up all night doing hero work might seem okay in the short run—more than okay, if Elastigirl was involved—but it wouldn’t exactly do wonders for her _paying_ career. She couldn’t keep doing this forever. In fact, how did any super _ever_ balance their two lives in the first place? She still didn’t have any concrete answers on the subject, and she wished someone would just please hurry up and write a manual about it.

She couldn’t keep this up forever, but… still… Elastigirl. She melted just thinking about it. About her.

Her dream had come true. A dream she’d barely allowed herself to have.

Something that also was helping Karen stay awake (though not very effectively): pain. She was bruised and scraped and battered. She’d been kicked, shot at, and shoved by criminals (and trains) last night—as had the rest of the team—and though none of them bore any serious injuries, there had been some near-misses. She was pretty sore and stiff, from physical exertion if nothing else. As she continued her work, she tried her best to concentrate on the ache. It sure helped keep her awake.

She imagined a future where superheroes were full-time employees of the state. Her dream life, basically. She definitely couldn’t keep working these two jobs forever, couldn’t keep having these two aspects of her life fight for dominance, not when one of them was so all-encompassing and the other paid for the food on her table. Something had to go. With a slight shake of her head, she internally admitted it to herself: Pawz-R-Us had to go. Eventually. Superhero work was _it_ for her: it was the dream, the end goal, the be-all end-all, and everything else was just a precursor.

Some superheroes made money from brand endorsements—“I, Mr. Incredible, will only use Kleentooth brand toothpaste; it gets the job done!” and that sort of thing—but nobody had approached the Soaring Six with any such offers. Not yet, anyhow. Barring that, the only hope for her was if the government _finally_ decided to employ superheroes on the public’s dime. With her heart clenching as she imagined that idyllic future for herself, Voyd really, really hoped that this time would come sooner rather than later.

Of course, Michael Maple would go nuts. She quietly chuckled—with, of course, a hint of sadness—at the idea. Maple and a whole lot of other people, probably, too. Forking out their own hard-earned cash to pay for _her_ career wasn’t _their_ idyllic future.

Oh, well. She’d just hope for the best. That was all she could do. Until then, she saw more long nights and exhausted days ahead.

 

Tomorrow was it. It was the day they would infiltrate the Bowman mansion.

As she made her way to the SJP at 4:30 pm in her superhero costume, Voyd was terrified just thinking about it. About what they would find there. About the dangers they’d encounter. About the horror of the unknown. About whether the Soaring Six would be up for the job. Maybe the NSA would be better off sending somebody else, somebody more experienced.

There was also an excitement in her, though: small but noticeable. Maybe, just maybe, what they discovered at Noreen Bowman’s estate would shed enough light on her evil activities that she could be captured and sent to jail for good, and lose the opportunity to hurt innocents, forever.

Her daughter, though—Voyd didn’t know what to think about that. Just fifteen, a high school student… did she really know, really comprehend, the fullness of what she’d done? Or was she just a puppet of an evil, manipulative mother? Was she responsible? Could someone so young truly _deserve_ a harsh punishment for her crimes?

Voyd tried to recall the faces of the two villains when she’d confronted them at the airport. In the mother’s face, she’d seen amusement, disdain, hatred… someone unhinged. In Queen of Hearts’ eyes, though, she thought she’d seen a flicker of regret. Maybe it was just her imagination.

Even though Rick had said that the NSA had found nothing in the villains’ past to tell what their motive might be, Voyd was haunted by the image of Noreen Bowman’s absent eye, the brutal slash that ate up that side of her face instead. It spoke of something violent. Something brutal. Voyd shivered as the image filled her mind. Maybe it meant nothing, sure, but… she thought the scar was a clue. Call it intuition.

 

In the SJP’s common room, the Soaring Six gathered together once again while Rick Dicker stood by the television. On the TV glowed a set of blueprints, displaying a very large, stately, foreboding mansion.

“This is the home of Noreen and Julie Bowman,” said Rick in his customary gruff monotone. “There’s little remarkable about the mansion itself. It’s late-19th century, Victorian architecture, fourteen bedrooms, nine bathrooms. It features a swimming pool, a private theater and a game room.” Rick shrugged his suited shoulders. “Typical rich-people stuff. What’s more remarkable is what’s underneath.”

“Which is…?” inquired He-Lectrix.

Rick clicked a button on the remote. The blueprints shifted until they showed an image of the mansion on its side, and underneath, a gigantic gaping hole of… nothing.

“With our sonar technology, we’ve been able to detect a large cavern underneath the mansion. We don’t know exactly what’s down there. That’s where you come in. Personally, I don’t believe there will be anything noteworthy in the mansion itself. That cavern, though?” Rick reached up and tapped the gaping space on the TV with his index finger. “I think that’s some sort of lair. That’s where you’ll find your prize.”

Unexpectedly, the doors to the outside creaked open. Everyone turned around in surprise. Winston Deavor was standing there, wearing sunglasses (though it was almost five o’clock and not very sunny) and a huge smile.

The smile deflated as he saw what was going on. “Am I interrupting something? I can head right back out.”

Rick Dicker heaved a big, I-don’t-get-paid-enough-for-this sigh. “Actually, I was just wrapping up.” He turned off the TV and glanced at Winston. “They’re all yours.”

“Perfect.” Winston’s smile returned and he entered the room, the doors closing behind him. The Soaring Six looked at him expectantly.

He clapped his hands together triumphantly. “I got you guys an interview with Chad Brentley.”

Voyd blinked. “Really?” was all she could muster.

“Yeah! Isn’t that exciting? I was thinking about your poll results, and I thought, well, we’ve got to intervene early if we’re going to stop this tumble. And then I thought, what about an interview? Put you guys on TV, smiling, bright-faced and cheerful, ready to candidly talk about what hero work means to you. The audience will eat it up! Brentley and his producers thought so, too. Things worked out. They had a last-minute cancellation and slotted you in. Bing, bam, boom, it’s in the basket.” His gaze darted to each super in turn, his smile widening with every one. “Remember that PR magic I was talking about? This is it, baby. This is our moment.”

“Um.” Voyd still couldn’t process the idea. An interview? With Chad Brentley?  “You mean this, _right now,_ is our moment…?”

“Yeah!”

“Tonight?” demanded Krushauer.

“Yup!”

“No,” said Brick, rising half from her seat. “I am sorry, I have big thing tonight, it cannot happen.”

“I’m not ready,” Krushauer insisted, voice harder than a rock. “You can’t just ambush us like this with no warning. We need time to prepare.”

“I agree,” said He-Lectrix, sounding uncertain. “I mean, I guess it’s a great idea in theory, but _right now_?”

“It’s most inconvenient,” Screech chimed in, seeming displeased. “I haven’t had time to prepare any answers…”

Winston looked somewhat discouraged by their response, but tried to improve the situation. “Screech, you don’t need to prepare answers. In fact, I encourage against it. This interview should be candid and honest. That’s the whole point!”

“I, for one, am all for it,” Reflux declared, jutting a finger in the air. “What’s the worst that can happen? We look like idiots on TV? Who cares! I’m too old to give a damn!”

“ _We’re_ not,” said He-Lectrix pointedly.

As for Voyd, her mind was beginning to race and buzz with the telltale signs of a panic attack. This just couldn’t be real. With all this other stuff going on, an interview on live television with Chad Brentley himself? Her face on the TV of every citizen in New Urbem? No, no… she wasn’t ready…

“Can’t we do this some other time?” she asked Winston, proud that her voice barely trembled.

“Afraid not, at least not in the next six months. It’s now or never. Brentley’s producers made that pretty clear.” Winston hesitated, clearly unwilling to let go of the opportunity. “But if you guys really don’t think you’re ready, I can cancel. It’s not the end of the world.”

Voyd could barely think for her fear. For anxiety-inducing events like this, she usually had months to psych herself up, and even then, it was a chore to get through them. But to learn about the interview right now, and then do it _tonight_ … She honestly didn’t know if she was capable of it, or if she’d simply melt down into a hyperventilating puddle onstage.

But.

It was their only chance. A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, probably. If they rejected this interview, who knew if they’d ever get another one? At least, not before their approval rating slipped so low that even if another chance _did_ arise, it wouldn’t do them any good…

Against all her terror, Voyd’s better judgement won the battle of brute force, somehow making its way to her tongue and controlling her mouth. “We’ll do it,” she said with a confidence she most certainly didn’t feel. With a nervous laugh, she looked at her teammates, all of whom were giving her either an incredulous glance or the evil eye. “Um, after all, like Reflux said, what’s the worst that could happen?”

“That’s the spirit!” exclaimed Winston. “Now come on, we’ve got to get over to the studio. Your interview’s at six. Chop chop!”

 

All the way over to the studio, with the Soaring Six piled in the back of Winston’s limo, Voyd couldn’t believe this was happening. When they reached New Urbem’s entertainment district, glitzy and neon-lit, Voyd couldn’t believe this was happening. When they were ushered out of the car and into the large, foreboding studio building, Voyd couldn’t believe this was happening. When the supers were taking their turns in the makeup chair being touched up for the camera, Voyd couldn’t believe this was happening. And when it was 5:49 and they were seated on a row of uncomfortable metal chairs in the dim backstage, twiddling their thumbs, Voyd still could not believe this was happening.

Oh, god, there were a million things that could go wrong. She bit her lip so hard she almost thought she could taste blood. What if she had to go to the bathroom suddenly while she was out there talking with Chad? What if she had a wardrobe malfunction? What if she didn’t know what to say? What if the audience hated them and their polls slipped to zero percent? What if—and this had been a secret buried fear of hers for years—her terror caused her to lose control, and she created a portal onstage by accident, and Chad Brentley slipped through and broke his neck and she was arrested for murder and sentenced to death and heroes were banned forever and—

No. She clenched her fists hard, trying her best to wipe the slate of her mind clean like a blank blackboard. None of that would happen. They were going to be okay. It wasn’t that big of a deal.

Except it was.

“Hey. You okay?” He-Lectrix, who was sitting beside her, asked.

“Yeah! I’m fine.” She tried to sound chipper. No use infecting anybody else with her fear.

“You sure about that?”

Voyd stared across the room, where a bunch of unused spotlights were gathering dust. “I’m fine,” she tried again. Not so convincing.

“Come on, you can lie better than that.”

“No, I can’t,” she said defeatedly. “I’ve never been able to lie.”

 “Scared?” he asked. “Me, too. I’ve never been interviewed before.”

“ _Never_?” She was genuinely curious. Months ago, when Winston had been organizing his campaign to get supers legalized again, there had been offers of interviews from various news stations and talk shows, but they had always conflicted with some other thing Winston had arranged for Voyd, and she’d never been able to make it—to her vast relief. And before she’d met Winston, no one had known her name, so she’d never had an opportunity for an interview, obviously. But He-Lectrix? She honestly had very little idea where he came from, if he’d been some sort of local celebrity before being recruited by DevTech. For all she knew, he could’ve been getting interviews left and right. She knew very little about her fellow superhero’s past.

“Nope,” he replied. “Never. I guess nobody wants to see this ugly mug on their television.”

She giggled nervously, but she couldn’t look him in the eye. Her fingers tapped on her legs in random patterns. The time was drawing closer. Chad Brentley was _right out there_. And soon, she would be too.

Trying to distract herself, she inquired, “But, like, nobody ever even _asked_ you?”

“Nah. Why would they?”

“Well,” she ventured, “you _are_ a super…”

He shrugged. “I wasn’t before Winston got ahold of me. Before then, I was just another guy.”

“But…?”

“You want to hear my life story, that’ll be ten cents a word.”

“Sorry,” she quickly backtracked. “I’m not trying to pry. Really, I’m not.”

He laughed. “It’s okay, I didn’t mean it. Let’s just say I was involved in an… incident. That’s how Winston heard about me.”

It was pretty much the same story for Voyd, although she didn’t want to think about her own _incident_ at the moment. Or ever. “Is it okay if I ask exactly what happened?”

“Not really the most exciting story,” he said shortly. “There was a coyote in my neighborhood one night. It was going to eat this little kid. I stopped it. That’s about all there is to it.”

Voyd suddenly had a flashback, a magazine article she’d seen perhaps a year ago _: Amazing electric man stops wild dog with bare hands!_ Then again, the magazine in question had been the _Enquirer_ , so she’d taken the story with a grain of salt. “Oh, my gosh, I think I heard about that. That was you?”

“Yup. The NSA swooped in, erased memories, made sure everyone thought it was nothing more than a tabloid fantasy. And everyone did. Everyone except Winston. Lucky me, right?” He gazed at her questioningly. “How about you? What’s your story?”

“Um…” Voyd hesitated. She felt like, since He-Lectrix had been forthcoming, she should tell her own tale, too. But… she didn’t want to. Not at all. She wanted to leave it far behind.

He was perceptive as usual. “Hey, don’t feel like you owe me anything. If you don’t want to talk, that’s okay.”

Relieved, she slumped back in her chair. “Thanks. Sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about. Not the nicest story, huh?”

“Not really,” she admitted sadly.

She glanced at a clock that ticked on the opposite wall. She had to squint to make out the numbers, as it was pretty dim. When they became apparent, her heart began to beat double-time. 5:54. Almost time…

“Oh, god,” she groaned, suddenly overwhelmed with anxiety again. “I never should’ve agreed to this. We should’ve all just said no.”

“Hey, c’mon. What’s the worst that can happen?”

Terrifying visions flashed through her mind. “Tons of stuff could happen! Like, for example—”

“Do not torture yourself,” rumbled Brick’s low voice a few chairs over. “It is okay. We will be fine.”

Something about Brick’s calmness rubbed off on Voyd, and her nerves quelled a little. “Thanks…”

“I, for one, wish we had been given some time to prepare,” Screech said tersely. Voyd looked over at him; his arms were crossed tight and he was frowning. “I simply cannot abide not being given time to _prepare_ for things.”

“That’s the real world. You had better get used to it,” said Krushauer bluntly.

Screech glared at him. “Perhaps it _is_ the real world, but it is simply not civilized! We should have been given ample warning. I am certain the rest of the team is in agreement with me. Mr. Deavor made a mistake.”

“You don’t have to be here,” Krushauer pointed out. “You can leave anytime. You’re not a prisoner.”

Screech blinked indignantly. “And abandon the rest of you? I could not imagine it. We are a team, and we do not abandon each other, in the best of times and the worst.”

Krushauer crossed his arms. “Then stop whining.”

Screech sputtered, but Brick drowned him out with her gentle, low voice. “We work together as supers. We work together with interview. It is same thing. We support each other. We will be fine.”

The nearby door burst open and Winston strolled into the dim room, looking supremely self-satisfied. “I’ve just been having a chat with Nancy—she’s one of the producers, lovely woman, really—and she says Chad can’t wait to meet you guys. He’s been psyched about it all day. Huh? Isn’t that great?”

A group of anxious, unenthusiastic supers looked up at Winston. Voyd tentatively said, “Yeah, that’s great!”

Winston’s eyebrows met in concern. “You guys look down. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Voyd insisted. But He-Lectrix was very correct: she was a bad liar.

“Is it because the interview’s so sudden? I know. I’m sorry about that. It’s a lot all at once, isn’t it? I promise, if there’s a next time, it’ll come with lots of warning.”

The clock read 5:56. Voyd unconsciously chomped down on her bottom lip hard, and her leg jiggled against the floor.

“But don’t worry,” Winston said with an encouraging smile. “Chad’s a great guy. He won’t put you on the spot. This will probably be the most stress-free interview you guys ever do. I’m serious. He’s probably the best in the industry. Do you know, when I was arranging that interview with Elastigirl, Chad said—”

The clock ticked 5:57 and another door, the one on the opposite side of the room from where Winston had entered, cracked open, stopping Winston mid-sentence. A headset-wearing, brown-haired woman poked her head in. “Three minutes. We’re ready for you.” The head disappeared.

“Oh, god…” Voyd whimpered. She knew she’d be terrified about going on camera, but she honestly hadn’t anticipated how terrified she’d get. She felt like she was about to get tossed into an arena and eaten by lions.

“Well! No time like the present! Go on, get out there!” exclaimed Winston.

Voyd was seated closest to the door, and this, to her abject terror, meant that she was first. Her legs unwillingly stood her up and brought her over to that portal of doom. Her hand pushed against the bar. A sliver of cracked into the dim area from the brightly-lit room beyond, growing larger as Voyd opened the door further. She winced harder and harder as she did. In that room beyond, she was going to spend a _very_ uncomfortable fifteen minutes.

She glanced behind her. Her friends were lined up, looking at her expectantly. She was meant to lead the way. She couldn’t let them down, not due to her cowardice. That sight spurred her on, and she pushed the door open, walking with trepidation into the next room.

Though there were cameras and lighting and technical stuff and people milling about, the only thing she could focus on was Chad Brentley, sitting in a comfortable-looking chair, wearing an impeccable suit, and having his face powdered by some makeup artist in a last-minute touch-up. The blonde talk show host had probably the most famous face in New Urbem. Voyd was about to be staring into that face, and answering questions that emanated from that face.

She just barely swallowed down the words _I can’t do this._

From behind her, she heard Krushauer’s unimpressed voice. “There’s only one chair. Where are the rest of us meant to sit?”

This little detail, in her fear, had escaped Voyd. But now, confusion arose in her. He was right. Positioned opposite and at a slight angle, facing both Chad and the camera, was _one_ chair. For _one_ interviewee.

There’d been a mistake.

The same headset-wearing brunette approached them again with a tight, we-don’t-have-a-lot-of-time smile. She clutched a clipboard tight in clawlike hands. “Which one of you is doing the interview?”

Winston stepped forward, ever their savior. “I’m sorry, I believe there’s been some sort of misunderstanding. All six of them will be participating. At least, that’s the impression I got.”

The woman stared at them blandly. “Nope. One interviewee. You ever seen Chad Brentley interview six people at a time? Nope. Not happening.”

“But the people downstairs touched _all_ our faces up,” Voyd weakly protested. “Why would they do that if only one of us was gonna be on camera?”

Brunette Clipboard-Holder shrugged. “I’m not really affiliated with the people downstairs. I don’t know what to tell ya. They made a mistake. Now, I _really_ need to know which one of you is going to talk to Chad. We’re kind of pressed for time here.”

As if on cue, some disembodied voice called out, “Two minutes!”

“Look,” Winston tried to argue with his hundred-watt smile burning as usual, “can’t you make an exception? Surely it wouldn’t be a huge deal if five of them stood behind the chair.”

“No. Choice. Now,” barked the woman, losing her patience. “I’m serious.”

Screech’s voice floated into the air hesitantly. “Voyd, would you represent us?”

Oh, Lord. “ _What_?” she demanded, whirling to face the owlish superhero. “No, c’mon, I would suck!”

He-Lectrix shrugged and jokingly stated, “You’re probably the most photogenic one of us. Let’s be real here.”

“Yeah, but… but…” She wavered desperately.

“I vote for Voyd! If only one of us is gonna go out there, might as well be you!” This came from Reflux, who gave her an encouraging nod.

“Yes. You are good choice,” rumbled Brick quietly.

Krushauer rolled his eyes hard, looking disgusted. “Can’t you idiots see she’s about to collapse from panic? For god’s sake. _I’ll_ do it.”

The idea of Krushauer—blunt, _way_ too honest, disdainful—going in front of the camera to represent the whole team? Voyd’s mind was made up in an instant. “N-No,” she insisted, fearful but determined. “I’ll do it. It’s okay.”

“I really need—” the brunette said through clenched teeth, but Voyd interrupted her. “It’s me. I’ll be the one.”

Winston placed a concerned hand on her shoulder. “You sure about this? You look a little pale.”

“What’s the worst that could happen?” she asked with a shaky smile before the clipboard woman grasped her arm and pulled her away.

She was plunked down in the seat next to Chad, and a swarm of people came and went like busy bees, powdering her face with soft brushes, telling her to look at Chad and not the camera, counting down a series of numbers that her brain was too fried to understand. Her eyes slid to the right, where she saw her friends, gathered behind the cameras. They were right there. That, at least, was some comfort. She wasn’t totally alone.

He-Lectrix gave her a thumbs up, and then the countdown stopped, and Chad was heartily introducing himself—and her. “My next guest needs no introduction…”

And then there was a question.

On the streets fighting criminals, she was adrenaline-drunk, cocky, fearless. (Or, at least, sometimes she was.) Here, she was a butterfly pierced through, pinned to a board.

Paralyzed with fright and staring into the evil black eye of the camera (exactly as she’d been told _not_ to do), Voyd gradually realized she’d missed Chad’s question. The host prodded, “Er, Ms. Voyd? Ready to come back to Earth?”

“Um…” She shook her head to clear it. Heat was radiating from her face, and she realized she was likely as red as a radish. “I-I’m sorry, I missed that.”

“That’s fine. Nerves. We all get ’em,” the host said with an air of gentle understanding. “I’ll repeat myself. I was just wondering if you could share your general experiences as a superhero, just to get us started. Give me and the audience a little taste of how hard life is, keeping our streets safe.”

She panicked, wracking her brain so hard she could almost feel the steam coming out of her ears. She truly had no idea what to say. “Um. Um.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Voyd saw the rest of the team standing there in the shadows, off to the side. She imagined their frantic faces as they internally begged her to say something, anything, with a _mild_ degree of coherence. She imagined all of them wishing they’d sent Krushauer to speak for them instead. Brusque as he was, at least Krushauer could spit a few words out. Unlike Voyd.

Determined not to let them down, she forced out—with an awkward laugh—the first thing that came to mind. “Well, Chad, it’s… it’s nice. Being a super. I mean, it’s not great all the time. Sometimes you get beat up. There’s guys with guns. There’s villains who want to kill you. Not fun. But, I mean, it _is_ fun. Sort of. Sometimes. I mean, I wouldn’t be a super if it wasn’t fun. But, I mean, actually I _would_ , because it’s all about helping people. Not about fun. But don’t get me wrong. It _is_ fun. Sometimes.”

She trailed off. Chad’s smile was frozen as he nodded in response, as if she’d said something worth nodding about, but Voyd knew she’d sounded like a total moron. If she’d been free to do it, she would have slapped her forehead. Several times.

Chad bravely forged on. “The life of a superhero certainly sounds intense and confusing. Let’s move on to another question. Voyd, a lot of our audience members are no doubt wondering about the finances behind all this. You provide a service by protecting the public, sure, but a lot of people out there are leery—understandably so—about the idea of paying for your service through their tax dollars. What’s your take on that?”

Oh, god. This was even worse than the last question. Voyd _had_ opinions, but she wasn’t sure if sharing them was the right idea. Not on camera, not in front of everyone in the city. “Um—” Her new favorite word. She wavered. “I mean, I feel terrible that people feel like that. I don’t want anybody to feel like we’re a burden on them, or like we’re taking money from them. But at the same time, I mean…” She remembered, and used, Elastigirl’s words. “It’s people’s _lives_ at stake. We’re saving people’s _lives_. Surely everybody in the country wouldn’t mind giving away a few dollars a year, if it means even _one_ of their fellow citizens will have a life to look forward to.”

She realized she was leaning towards Chad and gesturing with her hands a little more wildly than she’d intended. Chastened, she withdrew back into her seat, face burning. “At least, that’s how I see it.”

Chad was nodding thoughtfully. “Hmm. So you think it’s justified for every taxpayer to willfully part with a few dollars in exchange for supers to continue protecting them?”

“I mean… they do the same with police officers, don’t they? Why do they draw the line with us?” Voyd wasn’t sure if her arguments were making sense whatsoever, but as long as she said _something_ …

“Very true, very true. So, continuing in the same vein, what would you say to a politician such as Michael Maple if he were to walk in this door right now?”

“Uh…” Terror sent her stomach boiling. “He isn’t actually _going_ to walk in, is he?”

“No, no!” Chad laughed. “Not a chance. We wouldn’t pull that stunt without letting you know about it. Besides…” He offered her a showman’s wink. “I’ve been outspokenly pro-super in the past. A guy like Michael Maple isn’t going to seize the opportunity to sit where you’re sitting right now.”

“Oh.” A slight flow of relief didn’t do much to lessen the clenched fist of tension in her gut.

“The question still stands,” Chad lightly reminded her. “What do you have to say to Michael Maple? Not only him, but everybody who thinks the way he does?”

Voyd’s leg unconsciously jiggled as she tried to think of a response. Something clicked in her head. She _had_ a response. She’d _thought_ about this. Numerous times, actually.

“Well…” She started off slow, and gained defiance as she continued speaking. “People like Maple don’t impress me. I think he says shocking things in order to stay relevant. It’s working great for him. He insults heroes, he insults people like Edna Mode, he insults everybody that disagrees with him, he just spews rage and anger because he knows people want something to be angry about, he knows that people are gonna latch onto his words and make him into some kind of… of…” She struggled to find the word. “Like, cult leader or something. You know what I mean? I don’t know if I’m saying it right…”

“I get what you’re saying,” Chad reassured her smoothly, though she had absolutely no way of telling whether he was lying or not. “Sounds like you’ve got a lot of pent-up distaste for Maple.”

“Well…” A little bit of Voyd’s righteous annoyance melted away, leaving her feeling regretful for her outburst. “I don’t hate him. I don’t hate anybody. I just don’t think what he says about us supers is true. In fact, I don’t even think _he_ thinks the stuff he says is true. I think he just says it…”

“…to rile people up?” Chad finished questioningly.

“Yeah. That’s exactly it.”

“So, just to clarify, you don’t think Michael Maple or his followers have a legitimate argument backing their claims about supers. You think they’re just in the game for the attention.”

“Yeah,” she confirmed. “That’s what I think.”

“That’s certainly a very interesting viewpoint, Ms. Voyd.” Chad shuffled some papers in his lap and glanced down at them briefly. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to move us onto another topic: fashion.” He flashed her a toothy grin. “To quote a colloquialism, who are you wearing tonight, Ms. Voyd?”

Oh, no. This was it. Thoughts of Edna Mode flashed unwanted into Voyd’s mind. If Edna saw this, she was _ruined_.

She couldn’t lie, though. About the only thing worse than not wearing Edna’s costume to an interview was not wearing Edna’s costume to an interview _and_ claiming a Galbaki suit was actually a Mode suit. Edna would skin Voyd alive, tan her hide, and hang it on one of her pristine, minimalist walls.

“Right now, I’m wearing an Alexander Galbaki design,” she admitted.

“Wow. I think that’s very interesting, because earlier you name-dropped Edna Mode, and now you reveal that—unlike the majority of superheroes—you have chosen not to wear a Mode design.”

Oh, god, you just _had_ to spell it out, Chad. She giggled, a throaty trill that didn’t sound anything like the roiling storm of anxiety within her. “Yeah, Mode designs are awesome. Some of my teammates actually wear her costumes and couldn’t be happier with them. I’ve just… gone a different path.”        

“I’m curious, though. Has Ms. Mode tried to get you to wear her designs?”

Chad, c’mon, _please_ stop talking about Edna… “I mean, there have been discussions…” she demurred uncomfortably.

“Sounds intriguing,” Chad pressed.

“Yeah, uh… I’d just prefer to keep things under wraps for the moment,” she desperately offered, hoping this would be enough to get Chad to shut up.

“Oh, ho! Well, that’s certainly very interesting to hear. We’ll look out for you in the future—perhaps you’ll be wearing a shiny new Mode outfit.”

“Perhaps,” she said with a shaky smile. Edna was probably sneaking into the SJP at this very moment, stealing her costume, filling it with live termites and quietly replacing it.

 Chad asked Voyd a few more questions, and she bumbled through them with all the lithe grace of a newborn yak. At least the host was patient and kind with her, but nonetheless, Voyd still felt intensely like she was failing. She stumbled through each new question hoping desperately for the next to come, feeling like this fifteen minutes was the slowest of her life. Chad inquired about her suit, about the villains she’d fought, about her personal life (she politely declined to answer), about her opinions on super politics, and—as she’d been expecting and dreading—about the threat posed by Heartless and Queen of Hearts. Voyd did her best to assure the public that the NSA and the Soaring Six were on the case and that hopefully the villains-at-large would be brought to justice soon, but even she wasn’t convinced. And the clock dragged on and on and on…

Finally, Chad stated, “Well, that just about wraps it up for us tonight,” and Voyd almost jumped in relief. “Just one more question for you, Ms. Voyd, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure.” She desperately wanted to get out of there, but just a single question couldn’t possibly damage things any more than she already had.

“Okay. Here goes.” Chad looked her rather intensely in the eyes. “What would you say, right here, right now, to the people who doubt you?”

Voyd blinked, and took a moment to think. It was a good question. What would she say?

“Well… I understand why they doubt us,” she began haltingly. “We’re human, just like them. We make mistakes. We’re not perfect. They might be a little scared of us—we have powers that they don’t have, that they can’t understand. In their perspective, we’re these weird, different people who sometimes damage buildings and…” She swallowed. “Fail. Sometimes we fail. Sometimes we just don’t get there in time, sometimes we might hurt somebody by accident, and that’s all that the doubters see. They see our failures. They don’t see all the _good_ we do.

“I don’t deny that we fail. We do. We fail hard. And it hurts us, really badly, when we get there too late. We _feel_ that. Trust me, we do. It’s a gut punch. But for all our failures, there’s so much good that we do, too! We stop muggers. We catch villains. We help old ladies cross the street. We do _so much_ that you don’t see on the news. And we care about you. The people of New Urbem, I mean. I _live_ to help you. I’d never hurt any one of you on purpose, ever.” She was staring right into the camera now, right into the eyes of everyone who wasn’t convinced, pleading with them. “Please believe me, we care about each and every citizen of New Urbem with all our hearts. Everyone on my team is such a truly, genuinely good person that really has a heart for helping others.  We’d lay our lives down for you. I _mean_ it.”

Her voice cracked. “Even if you doubt us, please just give us a chance. We haven’t had long to prove ourselves. We _will_ prove ourselves. We’ll show you how much we care. I promise.”

She’d meant every single word with all her heart, and when she’d finished her speech, she didn’t know whether it had made any sense at all. Chad, however, looked moved. Only a _little_ moved, mind you, but beneath all the professionalism, Voyd thought she saw a slight crack. “Well, that’s certainly touching, Ms. Voyd. I think even your strongest detractors might be convinced.”

“I hope so,” she replied with a hesitant smile.

“I hope so too. Well, folks, that’s it for Ms. Voyd of the Soaring Six.” Chad was talking to the camera now with his killer talk-show-host smile. “Stay tuned after these messages, because we’ll be talking to music sensation Max Johnson, and you don’t want to miss that, folks. Stick with us.”

The moment Chad stopped talking ignited a firestorm; it was as though the entire room had been frozen in time and was just now allowed to resume its life. Workers started bustling around, attending to jobs, calling out strings of words that Voyd didn’t understand. Someone yelled, “We’re back in two!” A man rushed up to Chad and started powdering his face.

Voyd was uncertain of what to do, and she half-rose from her chair, intending to leave. Chad stopped her with a word. “Hey. I just wanted to let you know, you did great for your first interview.” He laughed heartily. “I could see how nervous you were. Don’t be! It’ll come with time.”

She nervously regarded him, wondering if he was lying to make her feel better. “You really think I did okay?”

“Absolutely. No one’s perfect.”

The brunette woman with the clipboard approached, and Chad turned his attention to her, and Voyd took this as her cue to leave. She rose from her seat and went over to her colleagues, her friendly smile turning more into a cringe with each step she took toward them.

“Um, was I awful?” she asked, chagrined.

Winston was smiling encouragingly. “Heck, no. You were great! That last part, especially—I’ll be surprised if our poll numbers don’t skyrocket.”

“But I was so awkward…”

“No,” Winston said firmly. “You were _authentic_. That’s what matters to people. You can’t fake that.”

“I think you did fantastic,” offered He-Lectrix. “I don’t think any one of us could’ve done better.”

Reflux grunted with agreement. “If only one of us could go up there, I’m glad it was you.”

“You were not perfect,” said Screech with his customary inscrutable owllike expression, “but then again, none of us can boast that we lack flaws. I think you did very well, considering the rather unfortunate circumstances. As Winston says, authenticity cannot be faked.”

Voyd wasn’t totally convinced, but having her friends’ support was a huge comfort. “I’m a little sad we didn’t _all_ get a chance to speak. If there’s a next time, I’d like to have the rest of you by my side.”

Everyone nodded and uttered words of agreement, and before long, they had gone down the elevator and made their way outside, where Winston’s car and driver awaited them. When they were all piled in the back and making their way back to the SJP, the ground underneath the tires softly rumbling and wind quietly whooshing by the windows, Voyd picked and pulled at the fabric on her leg, and she still couldn’t believe this had happened.

Tomorrow she’d face something even scarier than Chad Brentley. Tomorrow was the day they’d fly straight to the villain’s lair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for hitting you guys over the head with as many different descriptors for "Voyd was nervous" as I could possibly think up. I think you get the point. Voyd is a nervous human bean. Yes.
> 
> Thank you so much for continuing with the story! :)


	17. Help Yourselves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Voyd & friends visit the house of a supervillain to hopefully divine some secrets. 
> 
> This chapter was originally joined with the next, but it turned out being too darn long, so they were split.

There’s something to be said for the power of friendship. As they prepared to investigate the mansion of Noreen Bowman, Voyd felt slightly better knowing that the entire team was by her side. She had allies, she had friends, they were all in this together, and through their combined strength, she was sure they could take on almost any threat.

But even with the assurance that she wasn’t going into the fray alone, Voyd was still scared stiff.

Putting on a brave face for her friends, the young superhero tried her best to disguise her fear. She and the others sat in the common room of the SJP, fidgeting anxiously (and each trying to pretend as if they _weren’t_ fidgeting anxiously), waiting for Winston Deavor to arrive.

Rick Dicker had told them earlier in the day that, originally, the NSA had arranged for a private plane to transport the Soaring Six to their target—but Winston had offered something better, something more DevTech-y. They were just waiting for him to get here and inform them exactly what that something _was_.

Rick Dicker had assured them that the Bowman home had been scanned thoroughly, and it appeared as though no one had been there in some time—perhaps a week or more. In any event, Rick and the NSA were certain that there was nobody home today.

“How sure are you, exactly?” Krushauer had asked distrustfully.

“Reasonably confident,” came Rick’s gruff reply.

This wasn’t exactly good enough for Voyd. It was now almost twelve in the afternoon, and the terrifying “what-ifs” were buzzing around her head like angry wasps. She tried her best to clear them away, scrunching her eyes shut in effort. The what-ifs clogged everything, and if she didn’t get rid of them now, she might not be at her best later, and who knew what would happen?

But. What if.

An old poem Voyd’s mom used to repeat often entered her mind now, unbidden. _Will you walk into my parlour? said the spider to the fly._ Were the Bowmans the spiders, and the Soaring Six the flies? What if there were traps at the mansion? What if the NSA was wrong, and the Bowmans _were_ home? What if one of the team was injured or killed?

No. She was overthinking things yet again. She had to clear her darn mind, once and for all, or she’d never get anything done.

The mission was a straight line. Go in. Search for information. Get information. Get out. Easy, simple, straightforward. Nothing more complicated than that. The NSA said that Queen of Hearts and Heartless weren’t home, and Voyd would trust them about it. The NSA wouldn’t send them into a spider’s web willingly. They’d be okay. And that was _that_.

There was some idle chatter among the team, but not much. The mood was tense and excited, and none of them were very prone to small talk at the moment. It was their very first mission—ever!—and this thought was horrifying and awesome in equal measure. This might even be the mission that’d make or break them as superheroes. _That_ was something.

Idly, a stray thought wandered into Voyd’s head, so surprising that she wasn’t even sure where it’d come from. If she could do this mission, and she could sit through a Chad Brentley interview without fainting, then _surely_ she could work up the bravery to ask Daisy out on a date the next time they saw each other. She did life-threatening stuff all the time, and embarrassing stuff, too, and she’d gotten through that. Asking somebody on a date shouldn’t seem as insurmountable as climbing Mount Everest without an oxygen tank.

Somehow, though, the thought of her being killed on this mission wasn’t quite as scary as the thought of asking Daisy on a date and Daisy refusing her. Heck, _or_ saying yes.

The mission _was_ scary, though—overwhelmingly so. Voyd was relieved when Winston pushed through the front doors, looking buoyant as always and offering a much-needed distraction. “You guys ready to see your new ride?” he asked eagerly.

Before Voyd knew it, they were on the roof, staring in awe at what Winston had brought them. The jet had landed on the roof of the SJP without a sound. It was as sleek as a dart, silver and radiant against the blue sky, with two thin wings, and glass windows framing the concave top. It rested ten feet above the ground on delicate-looking landing gear.

“She’s a beauty, huh?” Winston commented with pride as the team looked at their ‘new ride.’ “She’s supersonic. You can get halfway across the world in two hours flat.”

“Does it have a name?” He-Lectrix asked.

“Nope. Well, actually,” Winston admitted, “she _does_ have a long string of letters and numbers that sorta function as a name. Not sure if I could repeat ’em verbatim at the moment. The guys in our tech department aren’t too creative with monikers. Except Artie, of course.” He brightened. “Hey, I’ve got an idea—why don’t you guys name her?”

 “Really?” asked Voyd with a hesitant smile. She didn’t know why, but the idea of being allowed to name the jet was especially touching.

“Of course! She’s yours, anyway. A little gift from DevTech to the NSA.”

“A _little_ gift?” exclaimed Reflux. “This thing looks like a million-dollar machine!”

“A _three-point-two_ -million-dollar machine,” Winston corrected genially. “Evelyn’s design. She drafted up the rough plans a few years back, and we’re only just now getting around to manufacturing them. They’re beautiful machines. We’re already drafting contracts with three separate aerospace companies. Gonna make the production cost look like peanuts compared to what we sell ’em for. Anyway, that’s the goal.”

Brick, who’d been looking thoughtful for the past little while, spoke up. “I think we call it something… what is word… majestic. The Eagle, or the Hawk. Bird name for flying plane.”

“Nah. We had names like those for our planes back in the big war,” Reflux objected. “We can damn well think of something better today. What about, uh, Flying Rod of Death?”

“Reflux, thanks a lot, but no one wants to fly around in a plane called the Flying Rod of Death,” He-Lectrix replied dryly.

Reflux crossed his arms hard. “Well, what’s _your_ bright idea, then, smart man?”

“I like Brick’s idea,” Voyd interrupted. “The Hawk.”

Screech spoke up. “Oh, yes, a birdlike name would be most wonderful.”

“I don’t like it,” Reflux muttered sullenly.

Winston butted in. “Guys, maybe we can think about this later. It’s not all that important right now. You’ve got a mission, don’t you?”

The mission. As if they could forget.

A metal staircase slid down from a suddenly-appearing door in the side of the dartlike jet, leading up inside. “Go on, get in!” Winston encouraged, making shooing gestures. “Tell me how you like it.”

The team clambered aboard one by one, with Voyd first. It was only when she stepped into the luxurious interior that she first realized it: there was no pilot. The interior was framed by comfortable-looking padded benches, with short, minimalist tables embedded between at certain intervals. In the centre of each of the tables was a small glass-shaped ring, and Voyd knew from quite a bit of experience with DevTech technology that these rings were most likely automatic dispensers of alcohol. In the back, towards the tail of the jet, there was a wall and door leading into another room—most likely a washroom, or the engine room, or both. However, in the nose of the plane, there was… nothing. No door leading into a cockpit, as one would expect. Just the benches, tapering to a point there.

The team filed into the plane; Screech and Brick both sat down to admire the soft cushions of the benches, while Krushauer leaned a shoulder against the glass window with arms crossed, the others milled about, and Voyd walked to the nose, curious if she was missing something. Nope—there was just nothing there.

“Uh, Winston, just curious. Does nobody actually _fly_ this plane?” He-Lectrix spoke Voyd’s thoughts for her.

“Nope!” he replied enthusiastically, still standing in the doorway on the top step. “It’s automatic. Evelyn designed it that way. There’s a computer in the back. Simply tell it the coordinates of where you want to be, and boom, you’ll be there. Great, huh?”

“It’s unnatural,” said Reflux grumpily. “I want a real pilot to have my back if I’m going to fly, thanks very much. It’s how we did it during the great war.”

“Aw, c’mon!” Winston exclaimed, thumping the elderly super cheerfully on the back. “It’s the march of progress, Reflux! Besides, don’t worry—this thing is foolproof. It’s been tested extensively. Wouldn’t give it to ya if it hadn’t been. Trust me.”

Voyd tended to agree with Reflux—the idea of an automatic plane gave her the heebie-jeebies. But Winston had never given them reason to distrust him, and his tech always worked, unlike that provided by the NSA. “Hey, Screech, it’s too bad you’re not a little stronger—you could get, like, a giant burlap sack or something, and put us all in the sack, and carry us around in the air,” she offered as a weak attempt at a joke.

Screech blinked at her. He didn’t seem to find it very funny.

“Ha! There’s an idea.” Winston glanced at the very expensive-looking watch on his wrist, and then looked back up at the team apologetically. “Well, I’m almost late for a meeting. The jet is yours. Your destination is programmed already—the NSA made sure of that. It’s voice-activated. All you’ve gotta do is say…” He mouthed the word ‘Go.’

“Thanks, Winston,” Voyd said with a nervous but genuine smile. “We really appreciate it.”

“Oh, no problem. Anything I can do to help. I don’t even know exactly where you guys are going—that’s privileged information, of course—but I hope you get there and back safe and sound.” He waved goodbye and disappeared. The door whooshed shut behind him, quicker than a blink, and they were sealed inside.

After a few moments of awkward silence—during which they all looked around the interior of the plane that seemed more like a coffin—Voyd nervously spoke. “Uh, you guys think we should g—I mean, say the word?”

Reflux plunked down on a bench and spoke gruffly. “I don’t know what we’re waiting for. Better now than later.”

Voyd enunciated carefully, even though she really didn’t want to speak the word at all. “Go.”

Instantaneously, they felt a humming beneath them: the jet’s purring engine had started. Within instants, they’d soared into the air, so quickly and smoothly that Voyd barely felt the transition at all. Despite its smoothness, she was still gently knocked down onto the seat behind her. Probably should’ve sat down or braced herself _before_ they took off. That would’ve been the smart thing.

The plane really did feel like an airtight coffin, and there was no escaping from it. The jet’s thin, sleek design made it rather claustrophobic, its minimalist interior didn’t help matters, and it _certainly_ didn’t help that Winston had so readily admitted the craft was his sister’s design. Voyd’s sharp discomfort with everything Evelyn-related had not faded whatsoever, and if wearing a tux that had once belonged to the evil inventor was bad enough, flying in an automatic plane designed by Evelyn was ten times worse. Oh, jeez, it was almost like flying in a plane _piloted_ by Evelyn, wasn’t it? The very thought almost made Voyd hyperventilate, and it was only with an effort that she calmed down, strictly telling herself, _You need to get over this_.

Only she knew she wouldn’t.

Everything about that day—the mission they faced, the plane, the interview that’d happened only the night before—meant that Voyd was very, very close to just creating a portal below her and allowing the plane to drop away, landing safely on the ground below. But she couldn’t and wouldn’t. People were depending on her. She wouldn’t abandon her teammates, and especially not the innocent civilians of the world who were endangered by the villains whose threat she was flying to confront. Their safety was more important than her fear, or even her life. She was convinced of it.

“We go in. We get out.” This was Brick’s rumbling, slow voice. “It is simple. This is plan, yes?”

“It’s slightly more complicated than that, but essentially, yes,” He-Lectrix replied. “At least, that’s what Rick led us to believe. All we’re doing is trying to find relevant information to suggest motive and further plans. Piece of cake. Shouldn’t take us too long.”

“The NSA is a farce,” said Krushauer with his customary bluntness, face turned toward the window and the rapidly-disappearing city below them. “They did not give us even a _hint_ at a contingency plan should things go wrong. Their practices are slipshod at best.”

“Or perhaps they simply would like us to be independent and create our own contingency plans,” Screech suggested. “After all, in the end, they are merely a guiding and assisting force. We are superheroes—not their trained dogs. We have a great deal of autonomy. I believe we have simply been too green, or too frightened, to exercise it.”

 “Okay,” said He-Lectrix, “so we think up our own backup plan. Anyone got any ideas?”

There was silence. Voyd could almost hear the cogs turning in everyone’s head. Or, at least, she _hoped_ she could.

She thought, hard. “Um… so if the villains show up,” she said, thinking out loud, “we should just get out of there.”

Everyone stared at her, and she reddened as she realized they weren’t staring with approval. “That’s your contingency plan,” stated Krushauer.

She grew defensive. “Yeah! I mean, what more is there to say? Our mission is to gather information about these villains, _not_ to fight them. If they turn up, we should conserve our energy and prevent ourselves from getting hurt, as best we can. Just abort the mission, head home and ask the NSA what our next steps should be.”

“If we get the chance to bring them down,” said Krushauer, staring at her hard, “we should take that chance. It’s a coward’s stance to just run away. We will have a chance to catch them without fear of collateral damage to civilians or property—the only property we can damage is their own. It’s a golden opportunity. And you want to simply flee?” He shook his head. “I totally disagree.”

Voyd cast her gaze down, red-faced. For whatever reason, Krushauer’s use of the C-word had really hit her where it hurt.

Screech cleared his throat. “Ahem. If I may point out, in this situation, the villains will have the clear advantage. They are on—to quote a colloquialism—home turf. These ladies presumably know every nook and cranny of their house, and we do not. Furthermore, we do not know what sort of tricks and traps await us, whilst the villains, again, will have this knowledge and know how to utilize it to their best advantage against us. Does this fact not make flight the most obvious course of action should we be confronted?”

“You are right,” said Brick. “We should not fight them in their home. We would be beat quickly.”

“It’s gonna be hard for me, if we see those villains and we can’t go after them or do anything about it,” Reflux commented. “I’d like nothing more than to show ’em what’s what. But between fight or flight, I think flight’s our best play.”

Voyd glanced at Krushauer; the super didn’t argue their points, only grunted and fell silent.

Brick spoke up once again. “I am not sure I like plane. I would like to have pilot in plane. No pilot…” The large superheroine shuddered. “Weird.”

“I echo your sentiment,” said Screech with a frown, staring towards the empty nose of the plane.

“It’s spooky, is what it is,” said Reflux suspiciously.

“Well,” Voyd spoke up, trying to sound cheerful, “as long as it gets us where we need to go, I’m okay with it.”

He-Lectrix gave her a knowing look. “You sure about that?”

He’d seen her discomfort. “Sure,” she insisted weakly, crossing her arms. “What’s not to like?”

“How about the fact that this thing was invented by Evelyn Deavor?” He-Lectrix said pointedly.

Darn, he knew her too well. “Yeah,” she admitted grudgingly, “I’m not too excited about that, but… it seems to be working fine anyway. Winston wouldn’t give us anything that didn’t work perfectly.”

“Unlike the NSA,” Reflux added with annoyance.

Voyd knew her teammates weren’t too thrilled with the National Supers Agency in general—and honesty, neither was she—but, as always, she tried to muster positivity. “Hey, maybe with Artie joining them soon, the NSA will improve,” she suggested.

The elderly superhero rolled his eyes, no doubt remembering their scratchy, staticky old headsets. “I damn well hope so. We had better tech during the war!”

“He means the Civil War,” said He-Lectrix flatly.

Despite her anxiety, Voyd couldn’t suppress a giggle at that.

 

During their flight, Voyd couldn’t stop herself from imagining the worst possible fates for the team. Though she tried her best to push them away, the visions crept into her mind like a virus, showing her what could happen if everything—or even one thing—went wrong. To distract herself, she thought hard about her favorite things. Daisy. Hero work. Elastigirl.

Due to decades of fangirling, Voyd knew quite a bit about Elastigirl’s civilian life—heroes were careful with specific personal details, but they weren’t shy about sharing some less-sensitive things, and Voyd had seen every interview imaginable. Her knowledge included the fact that her favorite hero had once been an ace pilot. Staring at the pilotless nose of the plane as it swiftly and surely navigated through the clouds, Voyd wondered what Elastigirl would think of this. Maybe she’d be impressed by it—but, more likely, maybe not.

Voyd once again entertained the idea—no, the fantasy—of Elastigirl teaching her to fly. The time they’d spent fighting together two nights before had only strengthened Voyd’s idolization of the heroine, and on top of that, piloting was a useful skill for any hero to have. If she asked Elastigirl to teach her, not only would she get a chance to hang out with her, but Voyd would also learn an invaluable ability. She found herself lost in dreams of sitting in a cockpit with Elastigirl…

No. She shook it off. Elastigirl didn’t have time for her dumb ideas; she had a family of her own, a life. There was no point in even asking.

Still. Whenever Voyd saw a plane trailing its mist through the sky, she thought of her childhood idol.

“Are you thinking about mission?”

She snapped out of it. Brick had come closer and was sitting beside her, regarding her curiously.

“Uh, yeah,” she lied. She was such a daydreamer that she hadn’t noticed Brick, the biggest super on their team, had come over. Kind of embarrassing.

Brick nodded, looking out the window in a quietly reflective way. “I think about mission too,” she said sagely. “I think things are okay. We will be okay.”

Voyd wasn’t convinced, but Brick’s outward total calm about the situation couldn’t help but rub off on her. “Yeah. I hope so,” she sighed.

Hoping to distract herself from her mounting anxiety, Voyd opened her mouth to ask Brick a question, but the question melted away—and she forgot what it had been altogether—as her eyes fixed on something approaching them on the ground. The jet was slowly descending, she noticed, breaking through the clouds and inching ever closer towards a gigantic mansion situated on acres and acres of grassland.

They’d arrived in record time. Voyd didn’t have a watch, but she thought it couldn’t have been more than forty minutes since they’d departed the SJP. And yet, they’d gone halfway across California.

Voyd’s entire being seemed to be focused into one point: the sickening insects flapping around in her stomach. She wasn’t ready.

The jet landed with ease, touching down gently and quietly. The door promptly, quietly hummed open and the staircase descended onto the ground below with a soft thump. The team exited, filing out one after the other; Voyd was last, and as soon as her feet were both on the ground, the staircase was quietly, automatically retracted once again.

“It is certainly a beautiful machine,” Screech remarked. They all looked up at the sleek jet, shining pristinely in the sun.

“I just hope it can offer us a clean escape,” said He-Lectrix. “If we need it.”

As one, their attention turned to the mansion which loomed, not very close, but too close for comfort. The house was huge, stately, multi-leveled and multifaceted, all cool white bricks. Voyd distantly thought that her childhood home would’ve fit into this house a hundred times over. It was a grand place, fit for grand people— _rich_ people. Yet, as far as the NSA’s intelligence was aware, only two lived within.

“Seems like an awful waste of space,” she murmured. “I mean, surely a mother and daughter don’t need all _that_ room.”

Krushauer scoffed. “Billionaires. They buy the biggest things on the market just because they can.”

“How much you think this house is worth?” Reflux asked no one in particular. “A hundred million? I’m no good with numbers.”

“We should go in,” Brick quietly said.

There was silence for a moment as everyone remembered: they had to go _in_.

“All right,” Voyd finally said, determined not to let jitters get the better of her. “Let’s go.”

 

They made the trek across a huge field of grass, reaching the paved area of smooth granite tiles that surrounded the gigantic house; their boots clomped along the stones—except for Screech, who flew slightly above. The front door was easy to spot; it was huge, framed by a large white arch.

“Step carefully, guys,” Voyd whispered to her friends. “Remember what Rick told us.”

Rick had briefly spoken to them earlier in the day. He’d informed them that the NSA believed the Bowman house was rigged with secret alarms and booby traps galore, with the vast majority of them concentrated outside the home. None were deadly—at least, the NSA didn’t _think_ so, which was cold comfort—but the team certainly didn’t want to trigger any, nonetheless.

It was easy to tell where an outside booby trap was located; the NSA had been able to give them reliable intelligence on that front. These particular alarms were manufactured by a covert company called FailSafe, an organization which the NSA might not have known much about… had FailSafe not been recently acquired by DevTech, that is. With DevTech’s help, the NSA had been able to inform the heroes that each FailSafe booby-trapped tile of granite would have a small—but noticeable—purple fleck in the exact centre. This was to assist the owners of the house, should they forget to turn off their traps. Today, however, it would help the Soaring Six instead.

Voyd scanned each tile carefully before setting her foot down, and her friends each did the exact same, diligently avoiding each purple-flecked tile—but still, she worried one of them would misstep. What would happen if they did? The NSA and DevTech were unable to tell them. FailSafe alarms weren’t designed to injure intruders, but it was possible Noreen Bowman had rigged them to behave in a way they hadn’t been designed. It was possible she’d rigged them to kill.

Voyd wished she could just use a portal to get them safely into the mansion and bypass all these traps, but Rick had warned her it was possible that the house’s very walls were rigged to detect such an intrusion—it was only when they got close enough to the home that they’d be able to tell. As the team continued carefully tiptoeing over purple-flecked tiles, and the mansion’s wall inched ever closer, Voyd plucked a small, NSA-provided box-shaped device with a screen from her belt and held it out towards the wall. It blinked orange. Orange. Orange.

“Well, why’s it taking so long?” He-Lectrix asked irritably.

“Give it a minute…” Voyd bit her lip as the screen kept calmly flashing orange. She wasn’t even sure if she was using the thing right; Rick had only bestowed it upon her today, and his gruff tutorial had been less than thorough.

Finally, it winked green.

She replaced it in her belt with a sigh of relief. “No traps in the walls—just in the doors and windows, I guess. I can get us in.”

With a flick of her wrist, a glowing blue portal opened in front of the team, with another forming in the nearby wall of the house, showing darkness within. Careful not to step upon any rigged tiles, the Soaring Six dashed through the portal one by one. The sunlight disappeared.

Voyd closed her hand once they were inside the house, and the portals went away. The team looked around, scanning their surroundings.

“Wow. This place is spartan,” He-Lectrix said.

It was true. The mansion was dim, for the lights weren’t on, but what little they could see of their surroundings was not particularly impressive. There was a small table with an artificial flower in an ugly vase here, a potted plant there, a chair here, a loveseat there, and generally not much of note. The floor was spotless, and the place didn’t look lived-in whatsoever.

“It looks like… I dunno, a model home or something,” Voyd whispered, feeling as though she didn’t dare to speak loudly.

Screech said, “I suppose if you are a family of two, living in a mansion so large such as this, you would only use one or two rooms out of them all with any regularity, would you not?”

“Yeah, well, let’s find out what those two or three rooms are,” He-Lectrix said with a breezy confidence he more than likely didn’t feel, and took a step forward.

Voyd saw the dim and inconspicuous, yet visible, laser beam that spanned the floor just before He-Lectrix’s foot touched it. She reached out a hand and opened her mouth to warn him, but no sound emerged before the other super’s booted foot passed straight through the insubstantial line.

“Um,” she said timidly as a loud, shrill beeping noise began to emanate from everywhere around them. “Laser beam. Watch out.”

“Oh, _now_ you’re telling me?” the blue-suited super demanded, though from the way the color drained from his face, Voyd could easily tell he was more frantic than annoyed.

“Sorry! I didn’t see it in time!”

“What are we do about this?” Brick asked, eyes twitching from left to right in fear.

The shrill whine of the alarm was piercing Voyd’s ears like a needle, stealing her sanity. She clapped her hands over her ears, wincing in pain. “We need to shut that alarm off!”

“There’s no point,” she heard Krushauer say, though her hands muffled his voice. “The homeowners have likely already been alerted. They’ll be coming.”

“No!” Voyd insisted, aghast at the idea of abandoning their mission now. “There’s still time! We can still finish the mission if we shut the alarm off _right now_!”

“But how the hell—?”

Reflux’s voice was drowned out by He-Lectrix’s, suddenly cool and confident—a quick change which surprised Voyd so much that she lowered her hands from her ears to hear him better.

“Don’t worry, guys. I think I’ve got this.”

“But wh—?” Confused, Voyd cut herself off as she watched He-Lectrix lift his hands. She half-expected beams of lightning to burst forth, but he didn’t use his powers; instead, he slowly moved his hands around, staring intently at what seemed like nothing at all… as though he was searching for something.

“What in god’s name are you doing?” Screech asked, sounding genuinely confounded.

“Shut up for a minute,” said the super distractedly as he continued his odd movements. “I think I’m onto something. I’ve only done this one or two times before…”

The horrible alarm-sound continued stabbing everyone’s ears, but He-Lectrix didn’t seem to hear it anymore. He seemed to zone out as he searched for whatever he was looking for, and then his eyes narrowed intently as he pinpointed whatever it was, his hands pointed toward a corner of the dark room.

“Gotcha.”

The room was briefly lit with blinding brightness as He-Lectrix’s lightning bolts issued forth from his gloved hands, targeting something in the wall that couldn’t be seen. After a few moments, the fizzling energy ceased, leaving a large burn mark on the wall. To Voyd’s shock, the alarm stopped too, trailing off irregularly and then halting entirely, leaving them in blessed silence.

After a moment, she ventured, “Wow. How did you _do_ that?”

Looking rather pleased with himself, He-Lectrix shrugged. “I honestly don’t know. I’ve been sensing it lately—this part of me that just _knows_ about electrical stuff, innately. I can sense it in the walls, sort of like… I don’t know… sonar or something, if I concentrate. Like, I create this map in my mind…” He exhaled in frustration. “I can’t describe it. But I saw what was in the walls. I saw that it all led back to this small system in the corner, there.” He pointed. “This system that controls the alarm.”

“Wow,” Voyd stated again in appreciation, her ears still ringing from the noise. “If you can do _that_ , who knows what else you can do? That’s awesome.”

Krushauer spoke. “Yes, well, you’ll likely have to repeat that performance if we’re not careful. Next time, try to _not_ trigger any alarms in the first place.”

“Not impressed by my amazing feat of strength?” He-Lectrix asked dryly.

“Not if you’re going to preface it with an amazing feat of idiocy,” replied Krushauer, sounding very unimpressed indeed.

He-Lectrix rolled his eyes, but didn’t respond further, and Voyd was glad he didn’t, too. They were all on-edge—fear and excitement and apprehension combined to make a hellish cocktail of emotions. They darn well didn’t need anger to join the mix.

Each being especially careful to avoid lasers, the team began to comb the house. Every room was checked for relevant information, every drawer and desk was combed, no stone was left unturned—but as the Soaring Six crept through the sparsely-furnished rooms of the home of Julie and Noreen Bowman, they quickly realized that there wasn’t much of note here at all. Everything yielded only disappointment. Desks were empty, drawers contained only takeout menus or phone books, there was nothing underneath couch cushions…

Though the Bowman home was enormous, it was obvious that no one really _lived_ here. At least, not on the first floor. As they searched through empty or barely-furnished rooms—some of which, it was clear, had barely been used—Voyd felt a sudden and unexpected pang of annoyance towards the Bowmans. Noreen was a billionaire, she’d made her money through her talented writing, and she’d bought this gigantic home… for what? For _two people_? For half of it to simply go unused, forever? Voyd herself barely lived in a closet, and she could hardly afford _that_. And here were these two people, mother and daughter, living in this cavernous house whose space seemed infinite. A space they didn’t need.

It was somewhat gloomy. Here was another room with nothing in it. Here was a living room with couch covered in plastic, still looking as though it had just come from the store. Here was an empty kitchen, pots glossy as they hung overhead, fridge containing a single mouldy apple and nothing else. Everything was so pristine, so untouched. It made Voyd think of her childhood home, pots rusty and stained with use, kitchen and living room both tiny, but warm and filled with laughter and love. (Sometimes, at least. At the best of times, at least.) And then here was this home… spotless, untouched…

No one had loved anyone here. Voyd couldn’t feel the ghosts of anyone’s laughter in this too-clean kitchen here, in this soulless living room there.

“This house is kind of creepy,” she whispered in trepidation to her friends, her voice carrying over their headsets even though she couldn’t see them.

From another room, she heard the sound of papers shuffling and a grunt of disappointment. “Very much agreed,” came Screech’s response.

“I mean, who needs this much space?” she continued as she lifted up a fake potted flower on top of a wooden bureau, as though something of importance might be underneath. (There wasn’t, and she replaced the flower with a groan of annoyance.)

“Noreen is one of the richest self-made billionaires on Earth,” Krushauer said over the headset, though a hint of wry distaste touched his voice. “If she wants to own all this space and never make use of it, I say she’s earned it. It’s foolish, but she’s earned it all the same.”

Voyd couldn’t bring herself to agree.

After some time, they’d combed the downstairs thoroughly and found exactly nothing of note in any of its dozens of rooms. Even though each of them had an NSA-provided scanner which allowed them to detect hidden recesses—such as safes—behind the wall, nothing was found. The downstairs felt like a dusty tomb, and Voyd shivered as she walked through its mazelike nooks and crannies. She couldn’t wait to get out of there.

They regrouped in a circle by the grand staircase which led into the darkness of a cavernous upstairs, a hidden unknown. All of them confirmed that they’d found nothing, and soon, they’d headed upstairs, hoping to find some hidden treasure there.

Voyd honestly thought they’d find nothing. Bedroom after bedroom, bathroom after bathroom—they combed them all. It was a _hotel_ , that was her best description for it—the mansion felt like a hotel, cold and not homelike whatsoever, perfectly-made and just waiting for the next customer to slip inside.

She slipped out of another guest bedroom with a sigh—no dice; nothing had been in there. Down the hallway, she distantly heard doors slam and drawers open with a rumbling sound as her friends investigated other rooms.

Her hand pressed into another cold wooden door, and she pushed it open, fully expecting to find another perfectly-made guest bedroom—but instead, her mouth opened slightly in surprise.

“Uh, guys? Think I found something.”

It was a teenager’s bedroom—that much was obvious. (Or, at least, Voyd _thought_ it was obvious. She hadn’t been a teenager in a couple of years, and maybe she wasn’t well-versed in how they decorated their rooms nowadays.) The floor was strewn with clothes of various colors, and the bed was unmade. A large nearby closet was open to display even more brightly-colored clothes and, on the left side, a row of school outfits—plaid skirts, button-down shirts, sensible pants. On the wall was a poster displaying the lovelorn members of Heart Attack, a popular teenybopper band.

There was a wooden bureau against the wall—and, shockingly enough, its edges were actually chipped with use, suggesting somebody _lived_ in this room, unlike the other immaculate areas of the home. On the bureau rested a few plastic trophies, and an assortment of larger metal ones, alongside a few framed photographs. Voyd approached the bureau, squinting at the medals to ascertain the name that was engraved upon the plaques that adorned the bottom.

Julie Bowman  
4th Place  
KCSSA Swimming Championship 1971

The others were very much the same: swimming trophies, each addressed to one Julie Bowman. This was Queen of Hearts’ own bedroom. It sent a snakelike chill scuttling down Voyd’s backbone when she made the realization.

Next to the trophies were a few photos in frames of varying sizes. The same teenager Rick had shown them was present in most of the photographs. In one, she grinned widely at the camera, showing an array of white teeth, and made the peace sign beside a gaggle of other teenagers, all of whom had arms slung around each other. In another, she stood beside a pool, wore a pink swimsuit and smiled proudly with a gold trophy in hand. In the last one, she was standing beside her mother in front of a brick wall. Julie Bowman smiled widely, her arm around her mother’s waist; the older woman was about a foot and a half taller, and dwarfed the skinny child. Noreen’s tight smile didn’t reach her eyes—eye, rather.

Voyd turned her attention to a modest bookshelf on the wall beside the bureau, running her fingers along the titles displayed there, each of which were worn and dog-eared as though they were very well-read, most shoved haphazardly into the shelf at odd angles. Most looked like science fiction stories or trivia books, but there were a few outliers…

Voyd pulled one of the books out of the shelf, squinting at it. A small softcover, with the sheen of a romance novel. In huge bold letters on the cover, it read:

_NOREEN BOWMAN._

In smaller, romantic cursive letters:

 _A Lover Returned._  
Queen of Hearts Series #5.  
The New York Times Bestseller.

A pang of recognition hit Voyd hard, the mundane realization somehow feeling like a transport truck straight to the gut. She’d _seen_ these books, in thrift stores, proudly displayed in bookshop front windows, strewn about in coffee shops… This romance series had become such a ubiquitous part of her life, and everyone’s lives, that she didn’t even notice them anymore. They were _everywhere_.

No wonder this woman was so rich.

Feeling suddenly tainted for having touched the book, despite its seeming innocence, Voyd quickly replaced it back on the shelf.

So, Queen of Hearts, the teenage supervillainess, was named after her author mother’s series of mega-popular romance novels. Voyd supposed she’d known this fact before, but only just now did she really _think_ about it, and wonder about its significance. Though Voyd didn’t pretend to know the inner workings of the minds of supervillains, she had to admit, it was a pretty odd thing to name yourself after.

But she supposed Julie Bowman _was_ a queen of hearts. So to speak. She could tinker with your emotions, heighten them, make them into something you couldn’t escape. Something monstrous. Cancerous.

The name was apt. Creepy, but apt.

She heard a thump at the door and looked over to see her friends filing in: Screech, He-Lectrix, Brick. “You called?” He-Lectrix said quizzically, then cast his gaze down at the mess on the floor in surprise. “God, it looks like a human being actually _lives_ here. Isn’t that a shock.”

“A human being does live here.” Voyd pointed at the bureau. “Julie Bowman. This is her room.”

Reflux and Krushauer soon entered too, and the supers began to tear the room apart (so to speak, though they were careful to replace everything into its original position once finished with it). They searched in the bureau, under the bed, in the closet—Voyd even shook each item of clothing out, in case some important papers were hidden within. But the heroes soon came to suspect that, like all the other rooms in this household, this room would yield nothing important. And a quick scan of the walls confirmed it. There was nothing exceptional about Julie Bowman’s bedroom. Except, of course, the fact that it belonged to a supervillain.

“Friends, I believe this is simply a teenager’s abode, and nothing more,” Screech said somewhat dismally when they were all finished.

“Let’s go,” Krushauer said dismissively, already halfway out the door. “There’s nothing here.”

The rest trailed out behind him, but Voyd couldn’t help casting a hesitant look back at the bedroom before following her friends.

They quickly found Noreen’s bedroom just down the hall—or, at least, they suspected it was Noreen’s bedroom. It, like the rest of the house, was minimalistic. The large four-posted bed was impeccably made, and when they opened the closet doors, the clothes within were sorted by color. There was a lamp on the bedside table and a desk in the corner with a typewriter atop it, but other than that, the room was undecorated.

As Voyd lifted up the covers on the bed gingerly to check for any clues within, He-Lectrix—who was looking in the closet—commented, “This is a sad, sad woman.”

“Yeah…” Voyd agreed quietly, replacing the sheets back into their original position after finding nothing of note underneath.

“Come look at this,” Reflux spoke.

The old super was standing at the desk, staring at something intently. Voyd went over to him and peered over his shoulder, instantly seeing what had caught the super’s attention; the others came over as well.

In the typewriter was a sheet of paper with a few words already stamped upon it. Actually, ‘a few words’ is a lie. There were only two, over and over and over.

_Help yourselves. Help yourselves. Help yourselves. Help yourselves. Help yourselves._

“Wow,” Voyd whispered, the simple words striking fear into her. “What d’you think it means?”

“Beats me,” Reflux admitted, and reached down to open the thin drawer that ran under the top of the desk.

Within were dozens of papers. Reflux reached down and collected them in his hands, staring at them with a frown. Voyd took one from her fellow super and stared at it, too.

Every paper was the same.

_Help yourselves. Help yourselves. Help yourselves._

“Well, this isn’t creepy or anything,” He-Lectrix said sarcastically, but Voyd could hear fear thinly veiled in his words.

“Nope,” she replied faintly.

“She is probably trying to bait us with nonsense,” Krushauer dismissively stated. “These papers likely mean less than nothing.”

But Voyd wasn’t convinced. Call it a gut feeling.

Reflux snatched the paper from her hand and replaced all the sheets back into the drawer, closing it with a clattering noise. “Nothing in here,” he grumbled, “just like everywhere else. Let’s get out of here.”

Voyd could tell all her friends had been unnerved by what they’d found—or, more accurately, what they _hadn’t_ found—so far in the Bowman mansion. An empty tomblike house, which only had _one_ room that seemed lived-in. A screeching alarm system that had put them all on edge. Dissonantly, a normal teenager’s bedroom with no evidence of deviance—despite the fact that its owner was a known murderer. And finally… all those papers, filled with that indecipherable phrase.

As the others left the room and entered the hallway, Voyd lingered for a few more moments, biting her lip hard as she kept her gaze focused on the desk. She couldn’t tear her thoughts away from the papers within, sheets as numerous as snowflakes.

_Help yourselves._

It sounded very much like a warning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, the plane is not a red herring. 
> 
> In this chapter I was forced to establish around what year the Incredibles universe takes place, and I chose a futuristic-ish 1970s. Sort of like our 1970s, but different as well, in many important ways. They've probably got way better tech than we did in those days, anyway. 
> 
> Once again, thank you very much for reading! The next chapter has the Big Twist™, so hold on. I hope you continue to enjoy.


	18. Men of Myth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang discovers their nemesis' journals, and within them, they find some shocking allegations against someone they know well.

Voyd wanted to leave the Bowman house. She felt a pervasive sense of dread, one that seeped into her bones and caused her stomach to become a dangerously jittery bundle of nerves. The mansion felt like its own villain in a multitude of ways.

But their job wasn’t done yet. She knew that well.

“Well,” proclaimed Krushauer as the Soaring Six headed down the grand staircase to the empty and silent downstairs, “we’re done here. And good riddance, too.”

“Not so fast,” objected Reflux. “There’s got to be something here. We just haven’t found it, and we can’t stop looking until we do.”

As they reached the bottom of the stairs, Voyd turned toward her teammates. “Don’t you guys remember what Rick told us? There’s a huge hole underneath this place. We’re supposed to investigate that.”

Krushauer scoffed wryly. “Yes, and how? We’ve looked through this whole house and haven’t found any sort of entrance—hidden or not. The NSA didn’t supply us with a drill or a backhoe. Are we meant to dig down with our bare hands?”

“He’s right,” He-Lectrix commented reluctantly. “If there was a secret entrance, our scanners would’ve picked it up.”

Voyd was about to interrupt, but Screech spoke her thoughts aloud. “You are forgetting there is one among us who can create her own secret entrances,” he objected, casting an owl-eyed glance at Voyd.

“Way ahead of you.” One flick of her left hand and the floor opened up in front of her; the other supers quickly stepped back from the glowing, blue-rimmed hole, lest they fall down into it.

The hole dropped down, down, down, into a blackness that couldn’t be penetrated by the human eye.

“So there _is_ a basement,” He-Lectrix said as he peered into the gaping maw. “At least we know that much.”

Voyd glanced at Screech. “Hey, can you tell us what’s down there?”

“It may be difficult. That hole, unfortunately, may indeed be too small for me to comfortably fly. Can you make it any larger?”

Voyd tried. Really, she did. Gritting her teeth, she concentrated, attempting to make the portal increase in size. But it was like flexing a muscle that you’ve never used before—a muscle you’re not even sure is there at all, actually. Though she _did_ think the tingles in her fingers might’ve increased slightly, the portal didn’t react whatsoever. She found it impossible and gave up with a groan. “Nope. I’m sorry.”

Brick stepped forward. “I go into hole.” Without further discussion, the stoic superhero jumped forward and disappeared down into the void.

Voyd’s jaw dropped open and she leaned forward, staring down into the portal. “Oh my god! Brick, are you o—”

Her words were interrupted by a loud thud from below, almost like a sonic boom. Brick had landed. Voyd winced hard as she heard her fellow hero loudly grunt over their headsets. “Are you okay?” she finished meekly, hoping the answer was one she could stand.

“Only a little sore,” came Brick’s response. “I am fine.”

Voyd let out a “phew” of relief. Though she well knew that Brick was nigh on indestructible, she’d still been worried for a second there.

“What do you see down there, Brick?” Reflux asked.

“I turn flashlight on.” There was an audible click. “Yes, I see… hallway. I go down hallway.”

For a minute, there was only the distant sound of Brick’s slow footsteps impacting against the floor. The other supers listened intently. Finally, Brick spoke up once again. Voyd found herself feeling grateful that Artie had provided them with these new headsets, which weren’t clunky and barely ever crackled at all. Brick’s voice was crystal-clear, almost as though the gentle giant was right beside Voyd and speaking directly into her ear.

“It is door,” said the super.

“What? What do you mean? What kind of door?” asked Krushauer impatiently, one hand absentmindedly grasping the microphone of his headset and pushing it closer to his mouth.

“Big… metal door. With lock. Numbers. What is word…”

“Keypad?” He-Lectrix suggested.

“Yes, it is keypad. Needs…” Brick struggled to find the right word for a moment, as she was wont to do. “Needs _combination_.”

“So we break into it!” exclaimed Reflux, looking at his friends. “Melt it, or crush it, or break it down. Simple enough stuff.”

“Hold your horses,” He-Lectrix objected, hands on hips. “Don’t you think we should try subterfuge first? Y’know, be subtle about it?”

“I can just create a portal,” Voyd pointed out. “Like I did in the floor. No big deal.”

He-Lectrix slapped his forehead. “God, of course. Honestly, it’s like you guys forget she’s on our team sometimes.”

“Brick can jump down there easily; she’s indestructible,” Krushauer stated. “The rest of us aren’t so lucky. Voyd, can you help us get down there?”

Voyd opened her mouth and closed it, unsure of how to answer. Creating a portal was easily enough—when she could actually _see_ where she intended to project it. When she couldn’t see, though? She wasn’t sure.

“I don’t know,” she finally said. “The hole is too dark—I can’t see where I’m going. I might end up teleporting us into midair.”

Too often was she reminded that her powers had limits. Truth be told, it was kind of embarrassing.

“That is easily solved,” Screech said. “Brick, can you bring the flashlight over?”

“Yes,” came the super’s reply. Within a minute, the hole was lit from below by a beam of light, allowing Voyd to see to the bottom.

“There we go. Okay.” She quickly cast a portal to the bottom of the hole, and another next to her friends.

With everyone safely at in the basement, Voyd closed the portals with a twitch of her fist. Without the glow of the voids, they were left in a pervasive darkness that was only alleviated slightly by Brick’s police-scanner-slash-flashlight, which she held securely in one massive hand. They headed down the hallway—a dim place of stone and concrete, sterile and uninviting—and soon saw exactly what Brick had described.

The door was huge, steel, foreboding. It covered the entire wall, and was accompanied by a silver keypad on the concrete wall beside it, rather like a phone keypad. Clearly, a combination was required to get through. And the Soaring Six didn’t have one.

“Well, here goes nothing.” Voyd lifted her hand, fully expecting a portal to emerge in the door, leading them through to whatever dangers lurked beyond.

Nothing happened.

“Um.” She lifted her hand again, and again, growing more frustrated and anxious each time. Nothing. The door stayed the same, cool impassive metal. She didn’t even feel the telltale buzz in her hands.

Voyd gaped. “Oh, my god. I don’t know what’s happening. Are my powers gone?”

“Only one way to find out…” He-Lectrix said, eyebrow raised.

With anxiety quickly brewing in her, she lifted her hand yet again, this time aiming at the concrete wall instead of the door. A perfect portal immediately opened, flooding her with relief. She never thought she’d feel such comfort at seeing one of her voids, at feeling that buzz in her hands.

“Nope, I’m fine.” She closed the portal in the wall. “It’s just that darn door. There’s something about it.”

“Have you ever encountered such a material before?” Screech inquired quizzically.

“No,” she admitted, unsettled. “Never.”

“Never mind,” exclaimed Reflux eagerly, chomping at the bit for the chance to use his powers. “I’ll just melt it for you. Stand back, kids.”

Eyes widening, Voyd heeded his advice, stepping far back; the other supers did the same. Reflux rarely got the chance to use his lava powers while doing hero work—simply put, they were just too dangerous for most situations. However, here was the perfect opportunity.

With eyes narrowed in concentration, Reflux’s throat swelled like a frog’s, glowing from within. Within moments, he’d spewed a blast of magma towards the metal door. Everyone watched in anticipation, waiting for the door to melt away.

The magma harmlessly slid off, leaving a glowing orange pool on the ground. Nary a mark was left on the metal door.

Reflux let out a growl of frustration, throwing his hands into the air. “I give up! This is impossible!”

Voyd quickly made a portal appear underneath the bubbling, red-hot lava before it could harden, and it slipped harmlessly away into parts unknown. When it was all gone, she closed the portal, glancing at her friends. “Who’s next, guys? Surely _one_ of us can get rid of this stupid thing.”

“I try,” Brick stated calmly. She backed up a few feet and then got a running start towards the metal door, charging at it. With a glimmer of hope, Voyd thought that there was no way someone of Brick’s size and strength couldn’t knock that door down.

There was a resounding clang, and Brick was deflected like a ping-pong ball, stumbling several feet backwards and landing on her rump. The door was undamaged.

“Jesus,” said He-Lectrix.

“You okay, Brick?” Voyd asked, worried.

“I am fine,” Brick muttered, nonplussed. She slowly rose to her feet, rubbing her shoulder. “I will have bruise in morning.”

“Let me have a try.” With that, Krushauer stepped forward, and Voyd felt that glimmer of hope once again. Krushauer could crush anything. She’d seen him destroy cars, trucks, steel beams, an entire _boat_ … If he couldn’t do it, nobody could.

The blue-suited super raised his hands towards the door, and Voyd prepared for the metal door to groan as it buckled under Krushauer’s power, collapsing into a ball of crumpled silver like tissue paper.

Nothing happened.

To his credit, Krushauer kept trying. His eyes turned into slits and he scowled in concentration, deep grooves forming between his eyebrows, mouth morphing into a snarl with effort. Nada. The door remained the same.

Finally, he gave up, hands falling to his sides. “It is uncrushable!” he exclaimed, the closest to dismay that Voyd had ever heard him get.

Screech spoke up. “I would attempt to bring down the door myself, dear friends, but I am afraid I have no powers in my arsenal that would help in such an effort.”

“Then we’re screwed,” He-Lectrix said pointedly. “We need to get the combination or we’re done for. We’ll have done no useful work here today, none at all.”

“Hold on,” Voyd said, peering at He-Lectrix with an idea forming in her mind. “Why don’t you take a crack at it?”

“Me?” He looked surprised. “What for? I don’t have any powers that could help with this. You want me to _shock_ it open?”

“The combination, the keypad…” She gestured toward them. “They’re electrical, right? So why don’t you try doing the same thing you did with the alarm system earlier?”

He shook his head. “I was trying to _destroy_ the alarm system. That won’t help us here. If I destroy the keypad, the door’ll stay stuck for all eternity, which—in my opinion, of course—wouldn’t be very helpful for us.”

“C’mon, just try it,” she pleaded. “We don’t have any other options.”

“Fine.” With another quick shake of his head and roll of his eyes, He-Lectrix went over to the keypad, staring down at the thing.

He stared. He stared. Finally, he threw up his hands. “God, I have no idea what I’m doing. This is stupid.”

“Do you recall commenting on how you could sense the electricity in the walls, the way that the alarm system worked, in all its intricacies?” Screech asked. “Can you not apply the same sort of principle with this?”

“I mean… I don’t know.”

“Try,” Voyd insisted, not wanting to push him, but growing ever more fearful that the supervillains would return to their home and the heroes would be discovered red-handed. “Just try, okay? You can do it!”

“Fine,” he repeated, scowling. He put his hands on the wall on either side of the keypad and continued staring at it intently.

Nothing happened for a few minutes, and Voyd was about to admit defeat and advise the team that they should leave. But before she could open her mouth, He-Lectrix interrupted her thoughts.

“I think I’ve got something,” he said quietly but thoughtfully.

“Good!” exclaimed Voyd eagerly. “Keep at it!”

“I see… something…” He-Lectrix blinked slowly, eyes fixed firmly on the keypad. “No, I don’t _see_ it. I…”

He trailed off.

Everyone continued to watch with bated breath. Finally, He-Lectrix spoke again, sounding as though he were talking only to himself. “I think I can… I think… but that goes there, and that… shit…”

Without warning, he raised his left hand. A single thin beam of electricity, no wider than a pinhead, shot into the keypad with a buzzing sound.

Voyd silently prayed to whoever was listening that this would work. They needed to find something important, needed to make a breakthrough today. If they didn’t, it was fully possible that somebody might be killed due to their failure. Not only possible, but _likely_.

He-Lectrix was biting his lip hard in an effort to focus, and with no warning, there was a loud click. Voyd automatically cringed, but the click wasn’t ominous—in fact, very much the opposite. It was the sound of the metal door unlocking. And, as the beam of electricity from He-Lectrix’s hand winked out of existence, the door—very slightly, for it was extremely heavy—cracked open, revealing blackness beyond.

A wide grin formed on Voyd’s face. “You did it! Uh… what _did_ you do, exactly?”

He-Lectrix looked very pleased with himself. He shrugged his thin shoulders. “I don’t know. Really, I don’t. I just kind of saw what was going on in there, electronically, and… I manipulated it. I just changed it.”

“Y’know, your powers might not just be electrical,” Voyd commented. “You could have psychic powers like Psycwave, or telekinesis, or something. Because that’s just amazing.”

He shrugged again, looking doubtful. “Don’t think so. I think I’m just good with electronics. What are we waiting around for, anyway? We better go.”

A lump formed in Voyd’s throat as she stared into the darkness beyond the door. Who knew what was in there? What horrors possibly awaited them?

Steeling her courage, she tried to forget her fear. “You’re right. Come on, let’s go.”

 

The place beyond the door was a gigantic, wet, dripping grotto, with rough walls of wet rock, a huge cavern carved into the earth by unknown forces. It was very dimly lit with glowing green lights haphazardly spread across what passed for a ceiling high overhead—really a rocky, uneven terrain punctuated with jutting stalactites.

As they entered and gazed around them, their boots clopping against the hard ground, Brick commented, “This is very evil.”

“Agreed,” Voyd said softly, just as Screech also said “I agree,” and He-Lectrix said “Yeah.”

It _was_ evil. This was a villain’s lair if Voyd had ever seen one—which she had, in numerous exposé features on television which displayed the former hideouts of defeated evildoers. This was a classic villain’s hideaway, no doubt about it. This was what they’d been looking for.

Far away, Voyd could see the distant forms of structures against one wall of the cavern. She pointed them out to her friends, and they headed over there to do some investigating.

What they found was a treasure trove.

Sprawled against the rocky wall was a huge computer system: three gigantic screens, all of which were currently switched off. Wires and pipes and other technological accoutrements whose purpose Voyd didn’t know snaked all over the place, creating a confusing jumble of tech. Beside the computers were four headless mannequins, each wearing a villain’s suit: two costumes identical to the one Heartless had worn, and two costumes identical to Queen of Hearts’.

“You think those are backup suits?” Voyd whispered to her friends, not knowing why she felt so compelled to keep her voice low.

He-Lectrix spoke normally, and his own voice echoed all around the cavern like a ghost. “Yeah. Probably. They’re damn well rich enough to afford them.”

The members of the team dispersed, each investigating something different: Reflux tugged on one of the costumes’ sleeves, while Krushauer inserted a small device into a slot on one of the giant computers—an NSA-provided device Rick had given them, which would (hopefully) copy down the information contained in any computers they found. Brick knelt down, staring up at the computer screen with a frown, and He-Lectrix stared at it too—Voyd imagined he was trying to use his newfound tech-manipulation powers, though he didn’t seem to be having any luck so far.

As for Voyd, she walked slowly over to the wall beside the computer. From far above, a spot of water plopped onto her nose, cold against her skin, and she wiped it away, wondering how the computers could survive in a place that was so darn _wet_.

On the wall, there was a huge corkboard—so large that Voyd imagined you could park two cars comfortably on it, if you wanted. She cranked her head so far back, in an effort to see the top, that she winced as her neck cracked with strain.

The corkboard was covered with papers pinned upon it, so densely in some areas that they overlapped each other. Newspaper articles, torn pages from books, typewritten letters… Voyd couldn’t count them. Almost every square inch of the board was covered, even at the highest parts.

Her eyes scanned them all quickly, trying to take in what she was seeing.

 _Mr. Incredible prevents school bus tragedy_ , one headline blared—a newspaper so old, it was yellowed with age. It made Voyd somewhat nervous to view Mr. Incredible’s smiling photo next to the headline, surrounded by grinning kids he’d likely saved. This was a person she’d known and worked with, and it was eerie to see his picture here in this dark, dark place

Most other articles were the same. Gazerbeam does this, Plasmabolt prevents that, Gamma Jack saves hundreds, and so forth. Every single newspaper clipping was related to superheroes. Though most articles were centered around fawning praise of heroic activities, there were also stories that weren’t so kind.

_Dynaguy loses lawsuit in historic ruling_

_Plane accident kills hundreds—superhero to blame_

_Super peeping tom! Can you protect your family from superpowered perverts?_

_‘Join us or go away’—heroes facing increasing pressure to hang up their capes_

_Super ban to be announced within the year, sources claim_

And so forth. It made Voyd’s heart ache as she gazed upwards at these hateful articles, her eyes drifting from nasty headline to nasty headline. Supers had really gone through it, hadn’t they? She’d been a little kid when all that happened, and though it was imprinted in her memory, she’d forgotten exactly how bad it had been for them.

Most of the stories seemed to be ancient, from a time before heroes were banned… so, some of these articles were fifteen years old, at the very least. One newspaper cut-out was at eye-level with Voyd, and she stepped closer to read it. Her eyes widened as she recognized a name on the paper.

 _Man Missing_ , the headline read. Below that was a man’s photograph, and the words: _Simon J. Paladino, a longtime outspoken advocate of superhero rights, is missing. According to the local authorities, Paladino was last seen…_

Voyd blinked; she knew who this was. The alter ego of a superhero known as Gazerbeam, Paladino was a lawyer and superhero advocate who had repeatedly gone to bat for the super cause, and who had apparently died at Syndrome’s hand not long ago. Voyd knew these facts well, due to Winston Deavor’s association with Paladino. Their bond had been so close that Winston had even named the SJP after his late friend.

Why would Heartless care that Simon had gone missing? Wild theories began to swirl in Voyd’s head—did Heartless know Simon? Heck, did she _kill_ him? But as she continued scanning the corkboard, Voyd saw there were many articles relating to Simon, and she quickly realized the connection.

All along the corkboard, Voyd located various articles relating to Paladino’s attempts to get heroes legalized once again—and he wasn’t unique. There were articles about many superhero advocates, and there were articles about international campaigns for the United States to allow supers to come out of hiding, and there were articles about almost everything superhero-related that you could dream of. It slowly but surely dawned on Voyd: Heartless and Queen of Hearts were obsessed with superheroes. That was the sole explanation for this smorgasbord of hero-related clippings, which could almost be called a shrine.

The villainesses had been keeping tabs on _everything_ super-related. Possibly for decades.

She noticed that He-Lectrix was standing by her side, staring at the corkboard too. “Holy Christ,” he said matter-of-factly.

“I think these two _really_ hate supers,” she murmured.

“Yeah. I’m with you. But why?”

“That’s the question,” she admitted, unable to tear her eyes away.

Just below the corkboard, there was a simple wooden desk. Upon it were strewn more papers: newspaper articles, a thick leather-bound tome entitled _Superhero Physiology: What Scientists Know_ , and a glossy group photograph taken of around twenty smiling superheroes in costume, standing in a row. Voyd approached the desk and gingerly picked up the photo. She recognized most of those supers: each one was a prominent and celebrated hero from the glory days. This picture, like many of the newspaper articles, was probably quite old.

There were four supers who were crossed out, with precise black marker forming an X over their faces. Voyd identified them all in short order; she had encyclopedic super knowledge, after all.

Hypershock. Gamma Jack. Phylange. Mr. Incredible.

She put the photo down quickly, as though it were a live grenade.

Beside her, He-Lectrix had picked up a small, leather-bound notebook. He began to thumb through it, just skimming at first; then Voyd noticed his frown grow deeper, his lips purse.

“What’s that?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” he answered simply, handing the book over to her. “Crazy stuff, I think.”

She opened the clearly well-loved book, only to find a series of diary entries, each written by hand with ink. As she skimmed them, she found that some were fairly mundane. One entry read, _1 pm: Sent for groceries. Delivery was 15 minutes late. I didn’t give the boy a tip and he gave me a snooty look. Won’t order from that company again._ Another journal entry scrawled across the page read, _8am: ate cheese-and-egg baguettes for breakfast. Travis was once again late to pick Julie up for swim practice. I am beginning to think he is incompetent. If he’s late one more time, I will be forced to fire him._

But then, Voyd’s eyes wandered across a _less_ mundane page.

_We’re close to implementing our plan, Julie and I. Her power-enhancing bracelets have arrived in due time; they work beautifully. I believe that with her abilities and with myself pulling the strings, we can do anything that we want._

_Oh, and there are things I want to do._

Voyd swallowed hard and flipped the page a few times, reading another entry.

_We visited a pretty little mall last night, and had our way with it. Julie was magnificent. The girl is truly a sight to behold. She could topple cities if she wants. Of course, that is not our plan—not now. For now we’ll stick with the small fry. I’m considering a similarly-sized target. A plaza, perhaps. Or else, the New Urbem airport. I have a bone to pick with a rude security guard there, anyhow. Two birds, one stone._

Voyd read the entry aloud, bewilderment and disgust mounting up in her stomach as she did so. “This doesn’t _explain_ anything,” Voyd burst out when she’d finished. “It sounds like they’re just attacking people for… well, for the heck of it!”

He-Lectrix regarded her with two lines etched between his eyes. He said, “Some people are like that, you know. Just evil for no reason.”

“No. Not them. I know it.” She looked down at the journal in her hand, the words blurring together as she lost her concentration. “I know there’s a reason behind this.” But if there _was_ , these cryptic, useless entries wouldn’t help the Soaring Six decipher it.

The thing that stuck the most in her mind was the utter lack of concern for civilians. In the journal entry, Noreen didn’t even acknowledge the fact that two people had died in the attack. She just didn’t care.

So this wasn’t about killing people. Voyd knew it. It was about something else.

By now, Krushauer, Brick, Screech and Reflux had all approached and stood in a circle around the desk, regarding Voyd curiously. “Whassat?” Reflux asked.

After confirming that the entries ended after the one concerning the mall, leaving only blank pages, Voyd shook her head and let the journal fall back down to the table, where it landed with a thump. “There’s not anything important in there,” she told her friends dejectedly. “Just a whole lot of nothing. I mean, Bowman admits to the attacks, but she says nothing useful about _why_.”

“Here’s another book,” pointed out Screech, picking up a second leather-bound notebook from the desk and holding it out towards Voyd. “Perhaps this one shall give us the answers we seek.”

“I doubt it,” Voyd sighed in frustration, though she did take the notebook from his hands and flip it open. “This whole trip has been a waste of time.”

She stared down at the page below her and began to read.

This journal was different from the other one. In this particular notebook, Noreen Bowman’s handwriting was exceptionally messy, a series of clawlike slashes in the paper, more like bird tracks than any form of comprehensible communication—a much more emotional way of jotting her thoughts down.

Voyd had to squint and think hard to decipher the scribbles, but she managed it slowly, reading aloud to her teammates.

_On this day sixteen years ago, my beloved John was taken from me. My lover, my friend, my closest companion, taken by two bastards with a gun, and taken by those who refused to help._

_I will never forget the faces of the supers who stood by that day, masked and anonymous, uncaring and laughing, those who were drunk and stood by in that parking lot with not a care in the world as we were confronted by two armed strangers, as we pleaded for their help. I will never forget the words spoken by one of them—and I’ll never forgive myself for forgetting_ which _one of them said it. One of them said it, and that’s what matters. One of the supers, god damn them all to hell, said, “Help yourselves.” Help yourselves. Help yourselves. Help yourselves…_

Voyd’s voice trailed off as she continued reading. The rest of the page was simply the words “Help yourselves,” scrawled to increasing illegibility all down the page in ugly black slashes, some of which had ripped through the paper with their force.

“This can’t be true,” Voyd said aloud. “She’s crazy.”

“Is there more?” Screech inquired quietly, sounding somewhat shaken.

“Um… yeah.” Voyd didn’t _want_ to read more, but she couldn’t help herself, and knew there was no choice about it.

The words continued onto the next page. _Help yourselves. Help yourselves_. Written in font that spoke of a scarring hatred. Then, the writing became slightly calmer and more legible again.

_Six months in the hospital. Sixteen years to recover. Have never, will never. Made ugly, lost an eye, and yet I would have lost both eyes and my tongue and ears and arms and legs and everything if it meant John could live._

_My John loved life. He was a happy man. He loved to garden, he loved to cook, he loved to read my writing, we laughed together every day, we looked forward to our future, and he did not want to die._ These last words were written with such violence that the paper was torn through and there was an inkblot on the page beside them.

It made Voyd feel dirty—violated, in a way—to read these next words, the next paragraph, which were anathema to everything she believed in. They practically burned her tongue on the way out, and she read them aloud with her voice shaking in disbelief, anger and bafflement.

_Superheroes are gods, men of myth. They can lift a single finger and stop a hurricane, blink once and change everything. That day, not one of them cared. The bastards didn’t care. They have never cared about us, the meaningless little people. They do everything they do for the glory. And in those days, there was no glory left for them—only lawsuits. Their adoring public didn’t care for them anymore, and they got angry about it. They were bitter, and in their bitterness, they thought they could get away with letting just one unimportant man die. My John. Because they were bitter, they allowed him to die. As we begged for help. As they stood right there. Help yourselves, they said. I will never forget it._

“This _cannot_ be real.” With a burst of sudden emotion, Voyd interrupted her reading to state the words sharply. “She’s absolutely insane, deranged. She’s imagining stuff that didn’t happen! We don’t need to keep reading this. We know all we need to know. She’s nuts.”

Her friends only stared at her. None of them refuted her. None agreed, either.

She stared back, incredulous. “You guys don’t _agree_ with me? Come on! No super would ever sit by and watch someone get shot for no reason! This is just stupid lies. It’s a red herring. She’s throwing us off on purpose, it’s so obvious! Come on…”

Her voice faded away as she regarded the faces of her teammates: blank (Krushauer), troubled (Screech and Brick), conflicted (He-Lectrix), thinly-veiled fury (Reflux). None of them said a word.

With one last angry glance at her friends, Voyd returned to the journal clutched in her gloved hands, and turned the page. Her voice unwillingly trembled like a leaf. And even as she finished one paragraph and hoped it would be the end, there was more, more, more.

 _That day, two evil men took away my future, but it’s the superheroes who are truly to blame. There will always be evil men; that cannot be changed. It was the supers’ job to stop them. That is the whole reason for the existence of supers. They knew it, too. That day, those masked men stood there with beer bottles in hand, wearing their damn costumes, proudly displaying the fact that they_ exist to help _. And despite that, they refused to help. They laughed. They_ laughed _at us. They did nothing. Like uniformed firemen simply standing by and staring at a fire._

 _Why does that make it so much worse? If they were simply uncostumed men, random Joes on the street, then it wouldn’t be such a blow. But they wore those costumes, those costumes whose very presence screams herohood. And they flagrantly defied the costumes they wore. They wore the costumes to_ mock _those who begged for their help, that night. I am convinced of it._

_That day awakened me. Now I know the truth. I know what heroes are. Sacks of worm-ridden, rotten, odorous refuse wrapped in bright colors. Hateful bastards who lord their power over others, who should never have been allowed to run rampant, who should never have been allowed to exist at all. It was all right when they were forced into the shadows—at least I didn’t have to see their disgusting visages everywhere I looked. But now they are allowed to roam free once again—it’s like spitting in my face, in my husband’s face. It’s disgusting. It’s obscene. I’m consumed by it._

_I will rectify the problem. I will end them. I will destroy them. I will find peace. My daughter will help me. She’s a tool I’ve forged to avenge you, beloved John. Your death won’t be in vain— No. That’s a lie. Your death will_ always _be in vain, but at least now, I can ensure that the “super” scourge dies with you._

With trembling fingers—trembling in fury at having to read these disgusting lies, but also in deep-set fear that the lies might be _true_ —Voyd turned the page one last time. There was a list of names. She recognized them well.

_Never forget the names of these bastards, the ones who laughed._

_Gamma Jack._

_Phylange._

_Hypershock._

_Mr. Incredible._

It was a punch to the chest. All her air was gone.

“It’s not true,” she said faintly, though deep down, she didn’t believe such fury could be fabricated, didn’t truly believe what she’d just read was a lie. “It can’t be. No super would do that. No super would stand by and laugh while someone was killed and begged for help. And especially not Mr. Incredible! She’s just making up the most insane lies to bait us, that’s all that it is. And she got shot in the head, too—we can’t forget that. Her brain could’ve been damaged. She could easily be misremembering or hallucinating or—oh, I don’t know—something. This _isn’t true_.”

Every single one of the Soaring Six had fought alongside Mr. Incredible, laughed with him, knew him as a good man, a family man, a father. Voyd held him in the highest esteem, on the highest pedestal. The pedestal was collapsing like a Jenga tower.

She recalled the pleasant, kind voice she’d heard on the phone only days before, and her stomach clenched so violently she almost vomited. The journal fell from her hands onto the floor, where it flopped with a wet noise against the damp rock.

“No super would do that,” she whispered to herself. “Ever.”

It went against everything a super was. Everything she’d ever loved and believed in. The whole reason she existed on this Earth.

Brick spoke, sounding uncertain. “She may lie. It may be fake.”

“Exactly. The thing could be forged, invented to make us doubt ourselves,” He-Lectrix agreed, though he didn’t sound sure whatsoever. “We can’t know it’s real. We can’t know all this happened.”

There was still a kernel of hope in Voyd’s heart. If it was true—if the world’s famous, best-loved, most charismatic superhero, Mr. Incredible, had done such a thing, was capable of doing such a thing—no one could understand how it would hurt her. It would _destroy_ her. But still, there was a chance that it was all falsehood. There was only one way to find out.

“We’ll ask him,” she said firmly, determined, slamming a fist into her open palm. “We’ll just ask Mr. Incredible, and he’ll say it didn’t happen, and we’ll know he’s telling the truth.”

All was quiet for a few moments as the six supers stood there, weighing the implications of what they had just learned.

Then, in the distance across the cavern, Voyd heard voices. Her head instantly snapped towards the source, staring at the far-away metal door, which was still slightly ajar from the supers’ entrance.

The door opened as an unseen person pushed it from behind, creaking and groaning with its own weight as it did so. Two female forms stepped into the room, and both instantly froze in their tracks as they saw the collection of superheroes standing across the cavern.

For a moment, the costume-wearing Heartless and Queen of Hearts were perfectly still. So were the supers. The two sides only gazed at each other. All was peaceful.

When Heartless spoke, her voice held none of the smooth confidence it’d carried during the airport attack. She was frantic, hysterical. “Kill them kill them kill them! What the hell are you waiting for! _Kill them!_ ” she screamed, pointing at the Soaring Six with a jittery finger. “Before they get away! Kill them _now!_ ”

For her part, the young Queen of Hearts’ eyes snapped between her mother and the Soaring Six as she wavered, seeming confused and uncertain. As terror flared in her, Voyd looked around desperately at her friends, all of whom seemed unsure of what to do, too.

There was only one exit, and Heartless and her daughter were standing right in front of it.

Before Voyd’s racing mind could formulate any kind of plan, Queen of Hearts had made her decision. Though she did so with what Voyd thought, optimistically, _might_ have been a look of regret, Queen of Hearts aimed a blast of red energy across the grotto at the superheroes, forcing them all to dive to the side to avoid it; the beam smacked the corkboard instead, hitting hard and breaking the thing into pieces. Papers scattered everywhere, and Voyd hit hard against the stony ground, gasping with the impact.

Though she was still too winded to react, she saw He-Lectrix spring to his feet and aim a blast of his own energy at Queen of Hearts in return. The blue lightning zapped across the room and made contact with its target. The teenager was knocked backwards, stumbling and falling onto her backside. There she lay, blinking and seemingly out-of-commission—at least for the time being.

Voyd had gained her breath back and pushed herself back to her feet. “Let’s get out of here,” she cried to the team.

There was only one exit. And this could be their only chance.

Without hardly even thinking, Voyd threw a portal to the metal door, and another right beside her. “Come on!” she screamed. Without question, the other Soaring Six—even Krushauer and Reflux, who had previously been so eager to battle the villainesses—ran over and jumped through the portal, one after the other. Voyd watched as they all emerged on the other side and ran through the door; she was unwilling to leave herself until she’d made sure that each one of her friends escaped safely.

All the while, Heartless—growing increasingly more unhinged—was screaming at her daughter, who was still lying on the floor, shaken. “Get up! Get up! Get the hell up! Get them! They’re getting away!”

Screech was the last to run through the portal, and as his wings disappeared through, Voyd fully intended to follow him. But Queen of Hearts had struggled to her feet and was staring at Voyd with a hard, malevolent intensity that sent a chill through her body. All uncertainty and regret were gone.

Queen of Hearts extended a hand, and suddenly Voyd could no longer move.

It wasn’t true—she could move. She just didn’t _want_ to move. Or did she? She didn’t know. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out, as she was suddenly washed over with the most intense sense of anxiety, of desperation, of total _uncertainty_ that she’d ever felt in her life. It was the most hellish of waves.

Her unsureness about everything—her future as a super, her future as a _person_ , the legitimacy of the super cause, whether Mr. Incredible was a hero or not, whether she could even trust anyone—had grown into a monster, a huge impassive beast that reached out and totally consumed her.

She was certain of nothing—not even of the ground as it rose up to meet her, not even of gravity as it claimed her.

Voyd’s shoulder smacked against the floor hard, and she cried out in pain, but she was unwilling to rise to her feet. Every single choice—get up or don’t? Cry out for help or not? Fight back or flee?—seemed insurmountable. She could barely even choose whether to _breathe_ or not.

She heard Brick’s voice yell, “Voyd!” But she was unable to respond. She could do nothing.

There were more sounds—fighting, blasting, things crashing, people shouting. Meanwhile, Voyd was fighting a private battle of her own. She fought and fought hard, but nothing could shake Queen of Hearts’ spell, and she found herself sobbing with frustration and fear, unable to act, unable to move.

She heard one last loud noise, and then the spell broke. The wave was no longer attacking her, but its remnants were strong enough to leave her lying on the ground, still not able to move a muscle. Then urgent hands were shaking her, and Brick’s face was staring down, terrified.

“Voyd, get up. We go. Get up. _Wstań_. _Wstań_. _Proszę_.”

Voyd tried. She really did.

“We don’t have much time,” came Krushauer’s brusque voice, tinged with fear. “Pick her up and drag her out of here. Let’s go, for god’s sake.”

Gentle hands slid underneath Voyd’s limp body, hauling her into the air as though she were lighter than a baby bird and quickly spiriting her away. Still motionless, she watched with dead eyes as the world passed by: the grotto disappearing, along with a motionless Queen of Hearts on the floor and a furious Heartless kneeling beside her body, screaming, _I’ll kill you. I’ll kill you_.

Voyd didn’t know exactly who she was screaming at: her daughter, or everyone else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea how lava works. Also, the script called for Brick to speak in her native language, and I had to choose what that would be. So I decided Brick was Polish for this chapter! (Of course, she's from Wisconsin originally.) 
> 
> So this chapter is the Big Twist™. Mr. Incredible is accused of standing around drunk in a parking lot in his super costume, bitter due to the lawsuits and the public turning against him, watching and laughing as a husband and wife were confronted by two armed spree killers, and ultimately telling them to help themselves. It's not really that great of a twist (and maybe a little TOO dark for this franchise), but I hope it shocked and awed you anyway. Did Bob actually commit this horrible deed, or will he be vindicated? Read on to find out.
> 
> Thank you very much for reading. :)


	19. An Answer You Don't Want to Hear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No one on the team, Voyd least of all, is happy with the revelations that have been made about Mr. Incredible. But things get even worse when Voyd decides she has to hear the truth from the man himself.

The plane ride home was a blur. Voyd lay sprawled on the seat where she’d been gently placed by Brick, whilst the others milled about and furiously argued amongst themselves. Their voices melted into a cacophony, and every word hurt her ears.

“If you ask me, it’s all bullshit—”

“No one asked you.”

“Well, I’m speaking anyway! It’s all lies. Just like Voyd said, lies meant to distract us and make us fight amongst ourselves. Well, it ain’t working.”

“Yes, we’re clearly a model of team unity—”

“No one needs your sarcasm right now.”

“I ask you for the hundredth time. Who made you king of the team?”

“No one did. I’m just speaking the truth.”

“If you gentlemen would stop arguing for—”

“Screech, nobody asked _you_ , either.”

“It could be lies, but more than likely, it’s true. That’s my opinion. Supers aren’t perfect and never claimed to be.”

“And what if it’s true? What do we do? Am I supposed to feel bad for these people? Because I _do_. I can’t help it. That’s horrible.”

“Speak for yourself. I don’t feel anything about it. It was horrible, certainly, if it happened. But it doesn’t warrant the murders of two innocent people sixteen years later.”

“Hell no it doesn’t, but—I mean, what consequences is Mr. Incredible going to face for this?”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking _sense_. If Mr. Incredible actually admits that, sixteen years ago, he stood by and watched as a man was murdered, and did nothing about it… I’m just saying he shouldn’t get away with that.”

“It was almost two decades ago. He’s a family man now. That was a dark time. And I’m not even sure standing by is even a _crime_. What more is to be said? We can’t even confirm whether this event happened or not. This is a useless conversation.”

“I don’t think so. I think this is an important conversation.”

“Well, as you’re so fond of saying, nobody asked you.”

“Now look here—”

Voyd listened as her friends fought amongst themselves, pain tearing her heart in half. All the while, a heavy hand gently stroked her hair, helping to calm her, if only just a little. Brick took no part in the arguing, and Voyd couldn’t blame her. She just wanted her friends to stop yelling at each other, to face the _true_ enemy instead.

But… who was the true enemy?

She couldn’t be sure of that anymore, and she didn’t think her uncertainty was the product of Queen of Hearts’ attack, either. It was real.

She imagined Noreen’s pain, and it nearly brought her to tears. This poor woman, losing her husband so violently, losing her own eye to a gunshot blast, and all while a group of supers were just standing around nearby, able to stop the violence at any moment, but unwilling… It was _incomprehensible_ to her. She couldn’t imagine, as a superhero, seeing a person in trouble and _deliberately_ refusing to help. It was the most horrific thing she could think of.

If the journal was true—and, of course, Voyd couldn’t know that it was, not yet—then Noreen needed compassion rather than righteous fury. Especially since there was a very real possibility of brain damage. This was a factor that definitely needed considering.

And her poor daughter, a girl who had no part in this, except the misfortune of having a mother deranged by grief and fury… If Noreen deserved compassion, then Julie deserved it tenfold.

Oh, god, she had no idea what to do now.

That wasn’t true, though. She knew exactly what she had to do. She had to pay a visit to the Incredible household.

Gamma Jack, Phylange, and Hypershock—the other accuses in this horror story—were all dead. Each one of them had been murdered by Syndrome, that superhero serial killer whose name Voyd couldn’t even think about without shuddering. Voyd knew some NSA insider information, courtesy of Rick Dicker, about the investigation on Nomanisan Island: the long-dead bodies of Hypershock and Phylange—among _many_ others—had been located, with the help of Syndrome’s former assistant. The NSA was still searching for Gamma Jack’s corpse but expected to find it within the year. It appeared that Syndrome had been… _experimenting_ on the cadavers after his Omnidroid made short work of them. Voyd didn’t know more than that, as she had stopped Rick from telling her any more. She hadn’t wanted to hear it.

In any case. Three of the accused were confirmed dead. Mr. Incredible was alive. He was the only one who would know the truth.

She had to ask him. It was the only way for her peace of mind.

When their jet softly landed with a purring engine on the roof of the Simon J. Paladino Center, and the door opened and staircase descended with a hiss, and Voyd stumbled onto the roof, blinking in the bright sunshine, only to see Rick Dicker staring back at her, wearing a black suit and with a concerned look on his face, her only words were, “I have to see Mr. Incredible.”

In an action that was most unlike her, she brushed off Rick’s requests to know what happened, leaving her friends to explain the situation as she quickly headed down the stairs into the building. Before long, she was on one of their cycles, buzzing down the road without a helmet on. She was unsure if the tears that stung her eyes were due to the wind or not.

_I have to know. I just have to._

Voyd knew where the Incredibles lived. She’d never actually been bold enough to visit their house—in fact, she didn’t even know their _names_ , besides Elastigirl’s being Helen, which she’d only learned by accident—but she knew their address, and she’d long since memorized all routes from the SJP to their home, in case an emergency necessitated the heroes’ presence but they weren’t reachable by phone for whatever reason. The family lived in the Metroville area, in the suburbs of the city, and it took quite a long time for Voyd to drive there, but every second seemed to whip by far too quickly for comfort. Her stomach felt weak with the turmoil that churned it, and though she had every confidence—she _did_ , she _knew_ it—that Mr. Incredible would truthfully deny the allegations, there was still that nagging fear in the very back corners of her mind.

Fear that he would admit it was true.

And, oh god, He— _Elastigirl_. The thought of her almost made Voyd turn the cycle around and head back, numerous times. The thought of seeing her under these circumstances. The thought of Voyd directly accusing her idol’s husband of something awful. It was too much.

But no. Voyd kept going, because she had to know. Her turquoise hair whipped in the wind, and by the time she reached the suburbia where the Incredibles made their home, her hair was a tangled mess. But she had no time to think about that. Modest family homes, each one almost identical to the one next to it, and each with perfectly-manicured lawns and bracketed by picket fences, whizzed by as Voyd passed on her cycle. She knew exactly where she was going.

The Incredibles’ house was two stories, blue and cute. There was a pink kiddie pool on the lawn beside the home. Next to the concrete doorstep rested a purple bicycle with multicolored tassels on the handlebars. In the driveway was a station wagon, perfect for a family. It was such a _mundane_ home. You’d never guess one of the world’s most infamous families made their home here.

Voyd’s cycle cruised to a stop, and she left it leaning against the Incredibles’ picket fence. As she approached the door, she knew that if she hesitated for even a second, she wouldn’t have the guts. So she didn’t. She knocked decisively and kept her feet planted on the doorstep, not allowing herself the chance to run away.

Within moments, the door opened. Elastigirl’s face appeared—unmasked, uncostumed, wearing a simple blouse and pants—and Voyd’s heart caught. She’d never get used to seeing her heroine dressed so normally. Ever.

Voyd heard laughter in the background—children’s laughter, and booming adult laughter as well—as the redhead blinked in surprise. “Voyd. Is there something wrong?”

There was a surprising sense of urgency in Elastigirl’s voice, and Voyd quickly realized that—since she was still wearing her costume— Elastigirl would probably think Voyd had come to ask for help with a villainous threat. “Oh, n-no,” she said quickly. “Nothing like that.”

“You’re wearing your suit. Did you just come from a battle?”

“Y-Yeah,” Voyd admitted. “I did.”

“So what’s wrong? Just need someone to talk to?”

Voyd fancied herself a decent reader of people—even though she couldn’t really _talk_ to them, she could read them okay—and she thought that Elastigirl was reluctant to offer any help at this moment. Totally understandable, given the fact that she was on vacation. “Um, a-actually, I need to t-talk to Mr. Incredible,” Voyd told her childhood hero firmly, trying to keep her voice steady. “If that’s alright.”

“Oh.” Though Elastigirl did seem surprised, she remained unflappable as always. “Sure. What’s this about?”

“Um…” Voyd shuffled her feet, totally unsure of how to respond, but in the end, she didn’t have to. Mr. Incredible’s huge, bulky form appeared in the narrow hallway behind his wife. “Everything okay, honey?” asked the famed superhero in that pleasant, relaxed voice.

Oh, Jesus. Voyd’s fists curled involuntarily—not in anger, but in panic—and even through her gloves, she felt her fingernails dig into her palms. She was sure her fear was plain to read on her face, like an open book.

“Oh, it’s you.” Mr. Incredible came up behind his wife, slinging a muscular arm around her shoulder. The middle-aged, blonde superhero was wearing… polka-dot pyjamas. Jesus Christ. Voyd was about to level accusations of manslaughter against a guy wearing _pyjamas_. Why did the pyjamas make everything worse? She had no clue.

“Hi, Voyd. What’s going on?” The question came from Mr. Incredible, who offered her a tired but easy and welcoming smile. “Anything wrong?”

“Um.” She once again felt like a butterfly pinned against a board. Like those newspaper articles pinned against Heartless’s corkboard. She wasn’t sure if she could make her mouth speak the words it needed to say.

Memories flooded her. Being a six-year-old kid who would sit in reverence in front of the television, nose pressed against the screen as she watched these two people save the world. Over and over and over and over again.

“Mr. Incredible, I h-have to talk to you,” she burst out. “If t-that’s okay. And… um… I think we’d better talk in private.”

This request elicited a frown from Helen. “Hey, wait a second here. Anything you can say to my husband, you can say to me. We’re a team.”

Oh, god. Voyd swallowed. “Um… okay. I’m not sure how to say this.”

The husband and wife watched her expectantly. Mr. Incredible looked concerned; his spouse looked both concerned and slightly angry. From back in the house, Voyd heard a muffled, “It’s _my_ turn, Violet!”

“Um,” said Voyd, and then decided to just spit it out while she still had the nerve. “Those s-supervillain attacks—those two women. Do you g-guys know about that?”

Husband and wife both nodded, with Elastigirl uttering a short, “Yeah?”

“W-Well.” Her hands were clasped together in front of her body, and she clenched them tightly enough that she heard some sort of pop from her bones. “I’ve just b-been to their lair. With my t-team, you know. A-And… we found some journals.”

“What did they say?” Mr. Incredible asked, a frown causing two deep lines to appear between his eyebrows.

“Um, w-well.” She swallowed again. “It turns out that this lady t-thinks that a bunch of superheroes just stood around while her h-husband was murdered. And did nothing. B-Because they were bitter, b-because of all those, y’know, l-lawsuits and stuff. It was sixteen years ago. And th-that’s why she hates supers.”

Mr. Incredible and Elastigirl both blinked at her. Elastigirl said, “That’s terrible. But what does it have to do with us?”

Voyd turned to Mr. Incredible. She gulped one last time. “Um. S-She seems to think that one of those supers was. Well. You.”

Voyd wanted to close her eyes tight and just wait for Mr. Incredible’s indignant voice to wash over her ears, insisting that he’d had nothing to do with it, that he had no idea what Voyd was talking about.

Instead, she heard Elastigirl, sounding every bit as indignant. “What a—I mean—Voyd, I think you’d know better than to believe that load of crap. Honey, tell her.”

 _Honey_ did not “tell her.”

Voyd regarded Mr. Incredible, and she saw that it was _his_ turn to feel like a butterfly pinned to a board. The superhero blinked rapidly, all color gone from his face. His mouth didn’t open. He said nothing.

“ _Honey_?” The word came from Elastigirl’s mouth slowly and very suspiciously. “Say something.”

Her husband was struck dumb. As Voyd looked at the super’s face, all hope drained from her like bathwater draining from a tub.

Mr. Incredible opened his mouth. “Uh…”

“ _Honey!_ For god’s sake!”

“It might have happened,” Mr. Incredible admitted, his head hanging in shame. “I can’t deny it.”

“ _What_?” Elastigirl was aghast.

Mr. Incredible sounded like the sort of man who gets defensive even though he knows there’s no defending what he’s done. “The lawsuits—they took a lot out of me. Sixteen years ago… _Christ_ , that was a long time. In those days, I was still doing hero work, but the people hated me. They hated all of us. It was those _goddamn_ lawsuits. Imagine what it’s like, going out to defend the greater good, only to have people scream at you, sometimes throw rocks at you, hold up signs like they’re picketing you, treat you like a criminal—”

“So what, Bob?” Elastigirl’s face was red with fury, and she didn’t spare a glance at Voyd now, just her husband. (So now Voyd knew the legendary Mr. Incredible’s real name too. Not that it made much difference.) “So you just thought it would be hunky-dory to _let one of them die?_ Jesus f—”

“I don’t know!” Bob yelled at her, one hand coming up to clasp his own hair. “I don’t know. Me and some of the guys, we’d drink. We’d drink a lot. Sometimes we drank so much that I had no idea how I even got home, much less what I’d done the night before. There are a lot of nights I don’t remember. So I don’t know. I can’t answer whether I did what you’re saying or not.”

“But,” Voyd said, timidly. “It’s possible.”

Mr. Incredible let out a long, heavy exhale. “Yeah, it’s possible,” he said defeatedly.

There was silence for a moment. Voyd stood on the couple’s doorstep, looking from one face to the other. Elastigirl’s mouth hung open, and she stared at her husband with a toxic mix of shock and unbridled fury. Mr. Incredible wouldn’t meet either woman’s eyes.

“It was the darkest time in my life,” said Mr. Incredible quietly, leaning against the doorframe. “I’ve never been angrier than I was back then. I was…” He trailed off, staring at something no one else could see.

Elastigirl spoke with slow, deliberate anger and horror. “Bob. We need to talk. Inside. _Now_.” With one last long glance at her husband, Elastigirl disappeared into the house.

Mr. Incredible gazed at Voyd, suddenly seeming exhausted, and Voyd wondered if he knew he was looking at somebody whose entire world had just collapsed around her. He didn’t seem angry with her, which was more than she’d expected.

He opened his mouth and suddenly closed it, shaking his head. Without another word, Mr. Incredible disappeared back into his home as well, with the door gently clicking shut behind him. Voyd was left staring at nothing but white.

In her mind, the golden gods had fallen down.

 

The whole ride home, Voyd’s thoughts were a bewildered mess, one thread not clearly leading to the next, and she could barely concentrate on the road. She hadn’t gotten a clear admission that Mr. Incredible had done what he’d been accused of doing, but she’d gotten a “Maybe,” and somehow, that was far worse.

Her stereotypes were being shattered like porcelain dolls. All her life, Voyd had lived in awe of supers, ever since she was a little girl. To her, supers were the protectors and defenders, the smiling and kind men and women in beautiful costumes, the perfect people. A super’s life— _her_ life—was always dedicated to the good of all, dedicated to justice. Every super was totally devoted to helping others. That was their goal. Their purpose. The reason they walked the earth with the powers they had. To help people.

And the charges against Mr. Incredible were exactly the opposite. Voyd’s mind boggled at the idea. How could a super become so bitter, so jaded, that they could _laugh_ at someone in mortal danger begging for help? The very thought made her sick.

And Mr. Incredible hadn’t denied it…

To her own horror, she found herself rationalizing his actions. Back then, supers were having a very tough time. Public opinion had turned so wildly against them that the government eventually saw no way to continue other than banning hero work entirely. How badly must the people have hated supers? How tough a life must Mr. Incredible have been living, going through court case after court case during the day while doing hero work at night? What must it have been like, to be despised and rejected by the very people you worked to save?

But still, no, there was _no_ excuse. None. Never.

Voyd felt even sicker at the idea that she’d torn a family apart. She remembered the fury and horror and confusion in Elastigirl’s eyes, and the knowledge that she’d soured the marriage between two of her greatest childhood heroes… the distant but real possibility that the marriage might even _end_ because of her…

For some reason, this was the last straw. Voyd was forced to pull over onto the side of the highway and vomit.

 

When she returned to the SJP, it had been three hours since she’d first left. She entered the building feeling totally drained, her eyes red with tears. Her friends were all sitting around the common room, quietly and soberly talking among themselves. When they heard the door creak open, every head turned to see Voyd’s hesitant frame standing there.

It didn’t take a genius to notice that something was very wrong. “Are you okay?” He-Lectrix asked, frowning in worry.

“No,” she admitted, her voice even hoarser than usual.

“What happened?” Krushauer asked.

“I went to talk to Mr. Incredible.” She slowly entered the room, sinking down into a nearby chair.

“And what did he have to say?” Screech asked, voice tinged with suspicion. From the way Voyd looked, she was certain her fellow supers all knew the answer already.

“He didn’t deny it,” she said brokenly with a shrug, unable to look any of them in the eye. “He just said there were a lot of nights back then that he’d get blackout drunk. A lot of nights that he doesn’t remember.”

There was silence in the room as everyone processed this information.

“So…” Brick finally ventured. “Heartless may be right.”

“ _No_ ,” Voyd insisted. “No. No matter what happened to her, nothing she’s done is okay. She deserves justice, but that doesn’t make it right to target innocent people.”

Reflux chimed in, scowling. “Doesn’t matter _what_ happened to the crazy broad, in my opinion. Two people are dead. That’s all that matters.”

“Three people,” Voyd corrected him softly, so softly that he didn’t seem to hear.

“I use wrong word,” said Brick. “I am sorry. I do not mean she is right. I mean…” The large superhero struggled for a moment.

“Just, not as wrong as we thought,” He-Lectrix suggested, sounding as though it pained him to say it.

Krushauer, who had been sitting on a couch, abruptly stood up and stalked over to the window. Voyd watched him with nervous curiosity. He looked more disturbed than she’d ever seen him.

Without looking at his friends, Krushauer muttered, “Do you know that if Senator Maple gets hold of this information, we’re all ruined? Imagine what he could do with it.”

Voyd blinked rapidly as a new anxiety set her heart fluttering. She hadn’t even considered that possibility, but now that it had been brought to her attention, she couldn’t shake it. If Maple heard about the reasons behind Heartless’s rampage, if he heard that superheroes were capable of such a deed, if he heard that Mr. Incredible himself did not deny that the event had occurred…

The public might hate them even worse than before. Supers might even be banned again.

He-Lectrix scoffed and didn’t seem worried. “He won’t. We don’t need to fret about that.”

Voyd wasn’t convinced, but the idea of other people discovering what Mr. Incredible might’ve done was less horrible to her than the fact that _she’d_ discovered it for herself.

“I almost wish…” she whispered, pausing to close her eyes hard. “…that I’d never read that diary. I wish I didn’t know.”

“I must confess that I am in agreement with you.” Screech shook his head, corners of his mouth firmly turned down; he looked quite troubled. “I have had my own assumptions about who heroes are and what they stand for. These assumptions and beliefs have all been torn down with these revelations. I admit, I feel rather like a naïve child.”

Voyd nodded; she felt very much the same. Tears were starting to form in the corners of her eyelids, and she angrily wiped them away with her gloved hand, sniffing. She didn’t want to look weak in front of her friends.

Brick, who was sitting nearby, reached out and placed a concerned hand on Voyd’s shoulder. “It is okay. We still know who we are,” the super rumbled, trying to be comforting.

 _We still know who we are._ The words cut at her. “Do we, though?” she asked, staring Brick straight in the eye. She looked around at each of her friends in turn. “Can you guys honestly say that this hasn’t affected your view of supers? Of _yourselves_?”

No one answered.

Brick finally spoke. “We are good people. Others do bad things, yes, but we are not them. We can be _us_.”

Voyd couldn’t speak for a few moments. She just kept staring out the nearby window over the city of New Urbem, its skyscrapers and apartments and alleyways and restaurants, its civilians and criminals alike.

She barely managed to articulate what she was feeling. “I became a super because of… you know, men like Mr. Incredible. Supers like that. And I’ve thought certain things about them, and those things are a part of me. Things like: supers help people. Supers save people. Supers care about people. Supers would never hurt people. And if those things aren’t true, I mean…”

It was far too easy to speak the words that came next. “…I’m not sure I want to keep being _this_ ,” she admitted, voice cracking hard.

“You mean being a _super_?” questioned He-Lectrix, seeming shocked that Voyd would say such a thing. “Hello? Was Voyd replaced by a pod person when we all weren’t looking?”

“I’ll always want to help people, but… maybe there’s a better way to do it. If this… this _institution_ of supers is built on lies and corruption, if our heroes are all actually jerks, then what’s the point?” Some of her bitterness snuck onto her tongue, and her words were sharp and acidic.

“Now, just hold on!” Reflux cried, righteously angered and even a little scared. “Just because there are a few cads in this industry don’t mean you should abandon it altogether! We’re doing good work together!”

Voyd couldn’t respond, didn’t know what to say. The day's events had taken their toll on her, and she was dog-tired, slumping back into her seat with a look of defeat on her drawn, pale face.

He-Lectrix gently ventured, “Voyd, not to baby you or anything, but I think you should maybe head to a bedroom and close your eyes for a while. You look bushed.”

She _was_ bushed. But the thought of sleep—of sitting there on a bed surrounded by silence, trying to pass out, but consumed by thoughts like vultures pecking at her—sounded like torture. She shook her head, sitting up straight. “I’m fine. Did you guys talk to Rick yet?”

“Nah, not really. We didn’t tell him more than the basics,” He-Lectrix admitted.

“He said he would come back and speak with us a little later, when _all_ of us were here,” Krushauer stated. “It’s been three hours. One would think he’d arrive soon.”

“Then let’s wait for him,” Voyd said staunchly. “I’m sure he’ll want to hear what we’ve got to tell him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are pretty down for our heroes right now! I know it's not pleasant to read, and it's not much fun to write either!!! But if you think the story is compelling, I'm really glad and grateful that you're sticking with it. And I promise that things won't stay crummy for Voyd forever. Just... for a pretty long time. 
> 
> I think it’s pretty obvious that the whole “they never found Gamma Jack’s body” thing is my own personal MacGuffin to keep my options for sequels open. I’m thinking about writing one where he makes a significant appearance. Stay tuned if that interests you. :)
> 
> Thank you, readers. :)


	20. Bad Apples

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Voyd and the gang explain to Rick what went down, and Screech reveals a surprise that may change the game.

“…and so,” Voyd finished, having spent the last half-hour helping to explain their mission in detail to Rick Dicker, “that’s how we managed to escape.” Flushing a little as she recalled her own uselessness during the battle, she admitted, “I wasn’t much help with that, though. As you can probably tell.”

She looked at her friends, suddenly struck with gratefulness that they’d come back for her, and also with guilt that she’d taken this long to thank them for it. “Thanks, guys. I owe you.”

“It was nothing. You’d have done the same for any of us,” He-Lectrix said rather dismissively.

Rick stood at the head of the common room of the SJP, in his usual position next to the television. The suit-wearing NSA agent’s face was a frowning mask of deep thought and worry. “Struck with uncertainty, you say?”

Voyd wasn’t sure she’d done an adequate job of explaining the terrible wave Queen of Hearts had inflicted upon her. “Yeah. That’s the best way I can describe it.”

“So severe that you couldn’t move…” Rick’s scowl deepened. “I’m advising you to exercise extreme caution around these villains. Whatever level of caution you’ve been using so far—double it. Any one of you could fall victim. I’ve already ordered a team of NSA agents to station themselves around the Bowman mansion, but—”

“They won’t go back there,” Krushauer interrupted bluntly. “I see no reason why they would return to their home after they know for certain it was compromised. That would be a foolish move, and I don’t think we’re dealing with fools.”

“Neither do I,” Rick said gruffly. “You interrupted my thought, which was the same as yours. The agents are just a precaution. I don’t think we’ll see hide nor hair of the homeowners back there, either. Even so, there might be more valuable material to be discovered within the structure.”

“I don’t think so,” said He-Lectrix. “We tore that place apart. There was nothing.”

The middle-aged NSA agent shrugged. “Can’t hurt to take a second look with a few fresh pairs of eyes. I’m not trying to insinuate you didn’t do a thorough job. On the contrary, I’d like to commend you. As far as I’m concerned, you supers did everything right.”

In another time, Voyd might’ve preened at these words. Right now, though, they rang quite hollow.

Rick glanced around the room at the supers who sat before him. “Some long faces in here, huh?”

Krushauer laughed; it was not a funny laugh. “How can you blame us?”

Rick Dicker’s lips pursed, and he shook his head. “I get how you’re feeling. You’re new, you’re green, you’ve got your lives ahead of you, you think everything is all sunshine. Don’t protest—it’s true, and you know it. Some assumptions were shattered today. Am I right?”

There were reluctant nods around the room. Voyd could barely look Rick in the eyes.

“Well, as someone who’s been around this block quite a few times, let me advise you of something. Supers aren’t perfect. Never have been, never will be. Now—” He lifted a cautioning hand. “Don’t get me wrong, the vast majority are decent human beings. But there are a few bad apples. I find that’s true for every profession. I know you’re bothered, but try not to take it to heart.” He chuckled slightly. “I know this may sound corny, and I apologize in advance. But—try to be the best _you_ s that you can be. Don’t focus on mistakes of the past. That’s over and done.”

Though Voyd didn’t really want to speak, the question had been eating her alive, and she was forced to raise her hand timidly. “Um… Mr. Dicker, will Mr. Incredible face any trouble for what he did?”

Rick shook his head no. “I wouldn’t worry about that. After sixteen years, it likely can’t be proven beyond a reasonable doubt. Besides, I think the torture he’s going to face is punishment enough on its own. Mr. Incredible’s a good guy, and I consider him a friend. And… well, there’s no excuse for what he’s accused of doing, but I lived through those times, and they were dark days. Supers were the pariahs of the day. Mr. Incredible went through his trials, and he probably went through ’em harder than anyone else in the business. Now, again—it’s not an excuse. Just something to consider before you judge him too hard.”

Voyd wasn’t sure which would’ve been the worse answer—learning that Mr. Incredible was likely to get away scot-free, or learning that he’d face a harsh punishment. Either answer would’ve wracked her with guilt. She quickly decided that the answer she’d been given was the worse one. Apparently, not only could superheroes stand by and _laugh_ while civilians were being threatened, but they could easily get away with it, too. She didn’t want to be part of an institution like that. That wasn’t what she stood for. Never had been. Never would be.

She felt no personal hatred for Mr. Incredible—in her mind, Voyd still saw that kind, caring father and devoted husband and daring hero, rather than a callous, mean criminal who had happily abused his position and who was little better than a murderer. She knew that Mr. Incredible had only been driven to his actions by a very bleak time in his life, a pit of darkness the likes of which Voyd could hardly imagine. And she felt nothing against him, could muster no hatred for him—just sadness and confusion.

No, it wasn’t about _him_ , it was about _supers_. And it was about what supers _could_ do and _couldn’t_ do. _Would_ do and _wouldn’t_ do. What they were capable of. What they stood for. What the reality was.

Rick’s sharp eyes noticed the look of conflict on her face. The NSA agent spoke again, his gruff voice becoming somewhat gentler. “It’s always been that way, kid. Mr. Incredible isn’t the worst of ’em, trust me. Back in my day, some of ’em did much worse things than that—Christ, I’ve seen things that’d make your stomach heave. Some people can handle having superpowers, in my experience, and then there are the ones who don’t handle it so well. There are always some who commit abuses. When that kinda thing happened, the cover-up job occasionally fell to me—I mean, the job of cleaning up after their messes and making sure the general public never heard a single whisper about it.”

He stopped himself, looking somewhat sheepish as he realized his words were only serving the purpose of making the Soaring Six even more upset. “Sorry. I know you all don’t want to hear my war stories. Just trust me, kid. Mr. Incredible wasn’t hardly the worst out there. That’s all.”

This did not help matters whatsoever with Voyd, but she tried to put on her bravest face. “Thanks, Mr. Dicker.”

Rick heaved a sigh. “Well, it’s been a productive day. We’re still investigating thoroughly at the NSA, and we’ll follow up with you sooner rather than later. In the meantime, I’d better get back to my office.” Rick hoisted his briefcase, which had been sitting beside him, and made to leave.

Screech coughed, stopping Dicker in his tracks. “Ahem. If you wouldn’t mind, Mr. Dicker, I have an item which requires your attention before you leave us.”

Everyone turned toward the owlish superhero in surprise. Voyd had no clue to what he was referring.

Screech was sitting by the window; outside, the sun was going down, causing the back of his head to be illuminated by a ring of fire. He reached down beside him on the couch and produced a small object, lifting it up so that it was lit by the sunset from the window.

“I must confess, it was a reflex. As we fled, I simply snatched this shiny object from the villainess’s table. I’ve no explanation for why I did so, but it may assist our endeavor in the long run. I have no inkling of what it may represent, and so I turn to your expertise, Mr. Dicker. Can you shed any light on this subject?”

The object which Screech was holding into the light looked like a small spotlight. It was a sleek, cylindrical silver object with two slender “feet” on which it could be stood, and though it looked like it should be awfully heavy, Screech hefted it with surprising ease. Rick approached, eyebrows meeting as he stared down at the spotlight.

After a few moments, Rick finally stated, “Can’t help you. Then again, I’m not a tech guy. If you can’t figure it out, send it over to NSA headquarters and our guys’ll run some tests.” As he once again turned around and headed towards the doors, Rick called over his shoulder, “Better ask that Fishel fella first, though. He knows everything.”  

 

“Mmmnope. Sorry. No clue what that is.”

It was now dark outside, and the skinny form of Artie Fishel was hunched over the spotlight, which now rested on a small coffee table in the common room of the SJP. He’d been squinting at the thing for probably half an hour, poking and prodding with miniature screwdrivers and wrenches, gently taking panels from the object and peering at the multicolored jumble of wires within. After so long of poring over the spotlight-like thing, Artie had finally leaned back on his heels and admitted defeat.

“That’s okay,” said Voyd encouragingly, who was standing over his shoulder (her legs cramping from doing so for so long). “You tried.”

“Really?” He-Lectrix, who was standing over his _other_ shoulder, asked with a frown. “Like, not even a tiny inkling, or anything?”

“Wellllll…” Artie waffled with a wince and a shrug. “It’s not a spotlight, that’s for sure. I can tell ya that. I doubt this thing could project any light at all.”

“Great. That’s helpful,” He-Lectrix said sarcastically; Voyd suspected he was still on-edge from that day’s earlier events. “Can you tell us some other things that it’s _not_? Like, say, a horse? A celery stalk? A pair of Marilyn Monroe’s underpants?”

Voyd elbowed him hard, shooting a look in his direction.

“Hey, I’m trying my best here,” Artie insisted, twisting to look at the supers behind him and raising his hands defensively, one still clutching a small wrench. “This tech is pretty similar to some certain DevTech designs, but I honestly can’t tell you what it’s _for_. Really.”

“Best guess?” Voyd hopefully inquired.

“Um.” Artie scratched his head, lost in thought for a moment. “If I had to throw out a wild guess… I’d say this thing has something to do with energy.”

The two superheroes blinked down at him.

“Energy,” said Krushauer, who was sitting in a chair on the other side of the room. “That is all you can give us.”

“Give me a _chance_ here, willya?! Yes, energy! The thing isn’t designed to _use_ energy—say, to emit light, like a spotlight might do. If I had to throw out my wildest guess, I’d say this object is designed to _absorb_ energy. Maybe it’s got something to do with solar power, although this isn’t a solar design I’ve come across before, and if it is, it’s innovative on a level I haven’t seen.” He lifted his hands in surrender. “Seriously, that’s all I’ve got. Please don’t tear my head off.”

If anyone in the room had had the desire to tear off Artie Fishel’s head, they were sadly interrupted by the creak of the front door. Winston Deavor practically pranced into the room like an out-of-place beam of sunshine, dressed in casual clothes, jeans and a button-down shirt. He smiled ear-to-ear when he saw the Soaring Six and Artie gathered in the common area. “Guys, sorry to barge in like this, but great news! The party I told you about? It’s a go. Next Saturday. Everything’s organized, and you’re all invited. Isn’t that great?”

Winston’s face fell as he watched the silent, long-faced supers barely react to his words. “Hey, don’t go crazy on my account, guys,” he tried to joke.

“That’s great, Winston,” Voyd—who was hardly in the mood for a party, and wasn’t sure a week’s passage would improve that fact—managed to say. “I’m sure it’ll be awesome. We’ll all be there.”

Winston wasn’t an idiot, and it certainly didn’t take a genius to tell that something was wrong with everyone—Voyd, especially. The last time he’d informed her there was to be a superhero party, she’d all but screamed in excitement. “Guys, what’s wrong? Mission not go well?” the billionaire asked with genuine concern, all traces of joy gone from his face.

Obviously—since Winston, despite all his contributions, was still a civilian—the NSA wouldn’t have shared the mission’s outcome with him, and honestly, Voyd couldn’t bear to tell him. Mr. Incredible was _his_ hero, too. The rest of the Soaring Six seemed to feel the same, as none of them said a word.

“We’re just tired,” she lied, trying to plaster a friendly smile onto her face. “It was a long day. The mission went pretty well, though.” She gestured around the room, grinning awkwardly. “See? No one died! Yay!”

Winston was apparently fooled. “Oh, of course, I totally understand. You guys do such hard work to keep us all safe. You deserve to be tired. Of course, I can’t tell you what to do, but if I _could_ , I would tell ya to take the night off. I’m sure New Urbem will survive a night without you. Oh, and I’m glad no one died.”

His attention was caught by the shiny “spotlight” sitting on the wooden coffee table. “What’s that? Anything important?”

“We don’t know,” Voyd admitted. “We found it in the mansion, but we have no clue what it does.”

Winston’s suspicious eye fixed on Artie. “Really? Even my favorite prodigy here can’t tell you?”

“Sorry, Mr. Deavor,” said Artie with a shrug. “It’s beyond my knowledge.”

“Beyond _your_ knowledge?” Winston looked genuinely shocked. “Wow! I thought you practically had a technology encyclopedia embedded in that brain of yours.”

Artie was on the defense again, rising to his feet. “I _do_ , Mr. Deavor, honest. I could probably look at ten thousand pieces of obscure tech and tell you what they’re for within thirty seconds. This thing, though… I swear, Mr. Deavor, I stared at this thing for thirty minutes and I still have no clue what’s going on with it.”

Winston waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t worry, Artie, I’m not going to _fire_ you or anything. I’m just surprised. You’re one of the most brilliant minds I’ve ever come across.” (Artie turned bright red.) “If this thing is beyond you, it’s beyond almost everyone. Except…” He snapped his fingers. “Evelyn! We’ll take it to Evelyn! Problem solved!”

For Voyd, this did not solve the problem; it simply created ten new ones. She spoke up skittishly. “Uh, Mr. Deav—Winston, I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

“Don’t worry! We’ll just show it to her, she’ll tell us what it is, and we’ll be on our way. It’ll be easy. There’s no danger involved, trust me—Evelyn’s been slapped with a year-long ban on being around any technology more advanced than a lightbulb. There’s nothing in the house she could use to hurt us.” He chortled, seeming to retreat into memories for a moment. “And believe me, she can’t hurt us herself. Still weak as a beanpole.”

“Um. The house?” Voyd asked with trepidation, but He-Lectrix was already speaking over her. “What do you mean, in the _house_?” the electric super demanded with great suspicion.

“Oh! Didn’t you guys hear on the news? Wait, I’m an idiot, of course you didn’t—you’ve been away all day. There was a hearing today. Evelyn was released on house arrest.” Winston was smiling brightly. “A year’s good behavior, and she’ll be home free.”

Oh, god, _another_ thing for Voyd to worry about. Great.

Winston noticed that no one in the room was particularly happy about his news. “Guys, I know you don’t trust her—and believe me, _I_ don’t really trust her either,” he admitted, though he sounded hesitant and somewhat ashamed to admit the fact. “But c’mon, would you just trust _me_? Believe me, if anybody in the world can tell you exactly what that thing is for, it’s Evelyn. If you want an easy way to find the answers you need, she can help you. Of course, I don’t want to force you into anything—if you’re uncomfortable with it, we don’t have to visit her. I just want to help you guys as much as I can. However I can.”

If Winston—kind, generous and helpful though he was—had one flaw, it was, Voyd supposed, his blind faith in his sister. Voyd was petrified of Evelyn, and every time Winston brought his sibling’s name up, she couldn’t help but get a chill. Then again, Voyd had to admit, one of her _own_ flaws was her inability to forgive and let go of the past. Maybe a visit to Evelyn would be harmless, even productive.

Maybe.

Voyd did trust Winston—that was a fact. She knew her friends did, too. She knew Winston wouldn’t have promised their safety unless he was sure he could guarantee it. And if a visit to Evelyn could help decode the nature of the “spotlight” and shed some light on the villains’ endgame—if a simple visit to Evelyn could _save lives_ —then Voyd couldn’t chicken out just because of her own stupid fears. She just couldn’t. And even if she was feeling more unsure than she’d ever felt in her life, even if she wanted to leave the whole institution of superherohood behind, she couldn’t abandon her duties before she helped finish this job and stop these villains once and for all. Period. If she did, she knew she would never, ever forgive herself.

“Okay,” she said firmly, surprising everyone, including herself. “Let’s go see Evelyn.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! If you like Evelyn, hold onto your hats, because the next chapter has a metric ton of Evelyn! :)


	21. The Cynic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evelyn Deavor is in it.

The street known as Acacia Crescent snaked up a massive hill which could nearby be called a mountain, framed on one side by gigantic mansions and on the other side by a steep cliff which dropped into the ocean. At the hill’s top rested the sprawling, futuristic home of Evelyn Deavor, located at 113 Acacia. The place had no driveway, so Winston’s limo driver stopped on the street outside of the home.

“She never learned to drive,” Winston genially informed Artie and Voyd—who was clutching the “spotlight” in her hands—as they pulled to a stop. “And this mansion was commissioned especially for her, so, y’know—why include something she’ll never need, right?”

“What about her guests?” Voyd asked uncomfortably, staring at the huge house across the street. It was a lot like Evelyn—sleek, cold, geometrically shaped. The only difference was that the mansion included a lot of glass, whilst Evelyn could hardly be considered transparent.

Winston shrugged. “She never really gets a whole lot of guests, tell you the truth.”

 _I can’t imagine why_. Voyd bit the words back.

Artie Fishel, who was sitting in the seat beside her, unironically said, “I can’t imagine why. A genius like her—every technician on the planet should want to pick her brain.”

He said the words with reverence, and Voyd knew he was unconscious of their insensitivity, but still, it stung a little. But he was probably right, anyhow. Evelyn was a genius. This fact couldn’t be denied.

She, Artie and the billionaire exited the limo, heading across the street toward Evelyn’s mansion; the limo driver turned the car off and unfolded a magazine, waiting for their return. Voyd felt nauseous about heading into the villain’s lair—sorry, _house_ —without any super backup behind her, but she and Winston had agreed that it would be best if only Voyd and Artie came along. The more superheroes that intruded on her home, the more skittish and uncooperative Evelyn was likely to be. Still, it made goosepimples rise on Voyd’s arms under her suit, to be heading into the villain’s mansion without her friends by her side.

The expansive lawn was unmaintained, grass grown too high and straggly. Two large flowerpots on either side of the grand front doors were unmaintained as well, the flowers inside having long since shriveled and died. They approached the front doors, and Winston pressed a button on the wall beside them. It made no sound, but Voyd assumed he’d rung a doorbell.

After an uncomfortably long 30 seconds of waiting, Voyd ventured, “Uh, do you think she’s coming?”

Winston chuckled. “You know Evelyn. Always fashionably late. Of course she’s coming.”

Voyd kind of hoped she wasn’t.

After a minute and ten seconds—Voyd counted—the door clicked, and then creaked open slowly. A moon-pale face peered out, circles slashing darkly under its hollow, hooded eyes, head covered by an unkempt mop of dark hair.

A cigarette jutted from the door, clutched between two thin fingers. “Anybody got a light?” Evelyn Deavor asked hoarsely, in lieu of a hello.

Winston was unfazed, and immediately produced a lighter from his breast pocket, clicking it on so that the flame danced. “Knew you’d ask that. Here you go.”

He lit the cigarette, and Evelyn held it to her lips, taking a deep drag. Voyd watched, wondering how the simple action of smoking a cigarette could instill such terror in her. It felt so utterly weird to be in such close proximity to the evildoer, to this woman who had nearly destroyed her and all her friends just months before.

Evelyn exhaled, a puff of smoke rising from her lips. “Thanks. They don’t let me have lighters, y’know.” She scoffed, rolling her eyes to the heavens. “For real, what could I do with a _lighter_?”

“For starters, you could burn the house down,” Winston reminded her.

“Why the hell would I do that?” Evelyn stuck her leg out, clothed with baggy black pants; the inventor hiked these up, revealing a black band around her ankle. “It’s my own invention, how hilarious is that? It’s designed to shock the hell outta me if I attempt to exit the house. If I burnt the place down, I’d burn myself down with it. Not smart.”

She glanced over at Voyd, her devil-may-care expression unchanging. Voyd wavered as the genius inventor’s hollow eyes pierced hers. “Um… hi,” Voyd said awkwardly, raising a hand in greeting, and feeling insurmountably stupid as she did so.

“ _Hi_.” The amused contempt dripped from Evelyn’s voice. “Why don’t you all come in? Let’s stop standing around out here like idiots.”

With that, she disappeared inside the house. With a glance at Voyd and Artie, Winston beckoned them inside, and with some reluctance, she followed him; Artie was less reluctant, trotting into a mansion like a stray dog who’s found its home at last. The door creaked shut behind them like an omen, and Voyd nearly jumped at the sound of it clicking closed.

The entryway was quite grand, with a tiled floor and two large staircases snaking off on either side towards the hitherto-unseen second floor. The ceiling high above was a point of interest for Voyd. She stared up, trying to figure out what was wrong. Then she realized it. Where there had previously been lights, there were now empty holes. Even the wiring was gone. So when Winston had said Evelyn wasn’t allowed near tech more advanced than a lightbulb, really, he’d been underexaggerating. 

Voyd, Artie and Winston followed Evelyn through the entryway into another room, a huge living room with plush couches and chairs galore, and a glass wall which overlooked the cliff and sea below. The room was relatively dim, the glass wall and the sunlight outside providing the only light. Again, there were no lightbulbs in here, nor any technology of any kind.

Evelyn extinguished her cigarette in a nearby ashtray—”I’m trying to quit. Operative word being _trying_ ,” she admitted—and then flopped down onto a red loveseat, regarding her brother, Artie and Voyd impassively.

“So. You want my help.” It was a statement.

Without waiting for them to answer, she squinted at Artie. “Who the hell are you?”

“Uh, Artie Fishel, ma’am.” He stepped forward with hand outstretched, though his face turned red from being acknowledged by Evelyn. “It’s an honor to meet you.”

She shook the offered hand, looking amused. “One of my brother’s pets?”

“One of our best new minds,” said Winston proudly. “I wish I could show you the work he’s doing, but…”

“But, alas. No tech allowed.” Evelyn reached lazily behind her head, to a coffee table with a mostly-empty wineglass upon it, and grabbed the stem without even looking. She raised the glass to her lips, draining every last drop, the color of congealed blood. “It is what it is,” she said when she was finished.

“Ah, you’re wrong there!” Winston corrected her with a smile. “I got an emergency permit from the courts half an hour ago, expedited by the NSA. So, it’s not _no_ tech allowed, it’s _almost_ no tech allowed.”

Evelyn blinked at him. “Is that so. The _courts_ are trusting _me_ with technology. Must be some crazy shit going on out there.” She elongated the A in _crazy_ to disproportionate levels. “Well, better make it quick. My grief counsellor comes over in half an hour.”

She said the words with casual contempt—for herself? For everyone else? Voyd didn’t know. Still, it struck Voyd with surprise that the proud, contemptuous Evelyn would even _think_ of seeing a grief counsellor. Voyd supposed it must only have happened at Winston’s insistence, though.

Winston’s face abruptly hardened at Evelyn’s words, and his voice quieted somewhat, as though he thought Artie and Voyd wouldn’t be able to hear him if he spoke quietly. “Ev, you’re lucky Susan’s meeting with you again at _all_ , after what you said to her last time you met.”

The thin inventor stared at him, thoroughly unsorry. “It was prison. I’m a criminal. What more do you expect?”

“You were _beyond_ rude. Please, could you not pull a stunt like that again? For me?”

Evelyn raised her hands in mock-surrender, one still clutching the stem of the wineglass. “Hey, I only speak the truth, little brother.”

“Evelyn,” said Winston with a hard voice, staring at her.

“All right, all _right_. I did wrong, and I know it. I’ll play nice this time.”

“You know she only wants to help you.” Winston spoke more kindly now.

“And you’re paying her good money to do it. And you don’t want said money to go to waste.” She smiled bitterly.

“ _I_ only want to help you, too. You know that, right? I’ll spend every last cent I have if it means you can finally start to heal.”

The bitterness left Evelyn’s voice, and she didn’t look at Winston now, or anyone else’s in the room. “I know,” she said, sounding quite tired.

Voyd couldn’t help retaining _some_ of her fear of the DevTech inventor, but most of it had long since drained away, replaced with a curious pity. This thin, unkempt woman, wearing baggy clothes, with bloodshot hollowed-out eyes bracketed with bruiselike circles, didn’t seem like much of a threat. In fact, it seemed like most of the fight had left Evelyn, replaced with bone-deep exhaustion. As Voyd took a quick glance around the room, she noticed empty wineglasses—and, in some cases, wine _bottles_ —strewn on almost every surface. Although it was possible some of them were months old, there were _way_ too many wineglasses lying around for somebody who had only been out of prison for a few hours. It was almost enough to make Voyd wince. Just more evidence that the inventor carried a deep wound, one that couldn’t be easily bandaged.

A nagging voice in the back of Voyd’s head started to speak, and to her horror, she couldn’t help but listen. With what Voyd had learned in the last few days—learned about superheroes, their nature, what they stood for, what they didn’t stand for—was it possible that Evelyn had been _right_ all along? The inventor’s villainous goal had been to get super activity permanently banned, so that society would be forced to help _itself_ rather than rely on the help of superpowered beings. And really… was that such an awful goal?

 _Help yourselves_. The words came easily to Voyd’s mind. Heartless’s words, but they could just as easily be Evelyn’s. Sixteen years ago, Mr. Incredible had told Noreen and John Bowman to help themselves. Maybe society in general should listen to his words.

A few days ago, Voyd would have angrily stopped herself from thinking such thoughts. Now, though, she simply allowed them to wash over her, not prohibiting their entry into her mind.

Evelyn glanced at Voyd. “I’m curious, though. How’s life been for you? You know, now that supers are allowed to do their thing. You enjoying that life?” She knowingly smiled with haunting sadness. “You regretting you ever wanted it at all?”

“Um…” Voyd stuttered, shaken by the former DevTech whiz’s perceptiveness. “It’s okay. I m-mean, it’s not everything I t-thought it would be, but it’s okay.”

“Not everything you thought it would be.” Evelyn’s repetition was a statement and a question in one.

“Y-Yeah. Sometimes it’s a little more b-boring than I thought,” Voyd admitted, wondering why she was spilling her guts to this evil woman who had nearly killed her. “B-But it’s okay. I think we’re doing good w-work as a team.”

“Hmm.” Evelyn tossed a glance at Winston. “You must be proud.” The words didn’t seem sarcastic—at least, as far as Voyd could tell.

Winston was frowning. “Come on, Evelyn, be nice. I didn’t bring Voyd here so you could torment her.”

“I’m not trying to torment her,” Evelyn insisted, and Voyd thought she was telling the truth. “I’m curious. Seriously. No TV, hardly any visitors… I really don’t know what’s going on out there in the big wide world. And…” She hesitated, rolling her eyes, as though the words she was about to speak would burn her mouth on the way out. “If supers are doing _good work_ , who am I to resent that?”

“So you don’t want to destroy us all anymore?” The question burst forth unbidden from Voyd, and she clapped her hands over her mouth, turning red and wishing she could take them back.

Evelyn’s expression didn’t change as her eyes met Voyd’s. “Not really,” said the inventor. “Don’t have the resources. Or the energy, to be honest with you. And I was…” She shrugged. “Not doing so well back then. Understatement of the century, huh? Anyway. No, I don’t intend to destroy you all. I _intend_ to wait out my prison sentence and then gather all my assets and flee to Fiji for the rest of my miserable life. I’ve learned my lesson.”

“And _I_ intend to prevent said move to Fiji, and reel you back into DevTech instead,” said Winston cheerfully. “Where you belong.”

Evelyn scoffed, but didn’t answer—or object.

Artie cleared his throat; Voyd guessed the young inventor was eager to bypass all this emotional stuff and get straight to the point. “The technology we’ve brought, Ms. Deavor?”

“Yup.” Evelyn made a tired beckoning gesture with her slender hand. “Bring it here, whatever it is.”

Voyd had been carrying the “spotlight,” but she’d almost forgotten all about it. The thing was so light, it was very easy to forget you were holding it at all. With ease, she lifted it up and handed it to Evelyn on the couch. “We found this in a villain’s lair,” she revealed.

Evelyn took the spotlight in her hands and turned it around in what little light there was from the window. Her expression didn’t change.

“Huh,” she said. “I’ll be damned.”

“What is it?” Winston asked, taking a step forward in eagerness. “You know it?”

“Yup, I know it. It’s one of mine.”

Voyd wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting Evelyn to say, but she certainly hadn’t been anticipating _this_ revelation. Neither had Artie, apparently, as the young man exclaimed in surprise, “One of _yours_?”

“Mmm-hmm.” Evelyn languidly turned the spotlight around and around, examining its grooves, its screws, its panels. “Never thought I’d see this baby again, to be honest with you.” She looked at her brother. “Win, you remember the sunlight machine?”

Winston’s eyes widened in recognition. “You don’t mean to say—?”

“Uh-huh. It’s a part of that.” Evelyn looked up at Voyd, smiling slightly. “I bet you’re the only one in this room who doesn’t know what I’m talking about, huh?”

Voyd nodded; she didn’t know.

“Well, let me clue you in.” She held the spotlight up. “This thing is a small part of a prototype machine. In layman’s terms, it was essentially an advanced method to draw power from the sun. The machine would have pulled in the sun’s rays and concentrated them into a beam of energy that could power a city for millennia with just one day’s preparation, never mind the rest of the world.”

“So where is the machine now?” Voyd questioned.

Evelyn lifted her shoulders. “Saudi Arabia, far as I’m aware. It was a huge embarrassment for us, wasn’t it, Win?”

Her brother nodded, lips pursed. “It sure was.”

“I was so confident in the prototype that we scheduled meetings with six different foreign governments to possibly arrange a sale, _before_ the stupid thing was even completed,” Evelyn explained to Voyd, frowning as she recalled old disappointments. “Huge mistake. When we were doing our presentation, I couldn’t get the damn thing to work properly. We were humiliated. But lucky for us, the Saudis still wanted a piece of the pie. They wanted to find out if their own scientists could improve the machine, so they offered to buy it at a reduced price.  We agreed. Bada bing, bada boom, it was over. Haven’t seen the sunlight machine since. That was… god, how many years ago now, Winston?”

“Three or four,” Winston confirmed. “I haven’t heard a thing about it since. I guess I just assumed the Saudi Arabians couldn’t get it to work either and probably scrapped it. Haven’t thought about it in years.”

“Excuse me, Ms. Deavor,” Artie said hesitantly, “but could the device potentially be used as a weapon?”

Evelyn shrugged, looking at the “spotlight” with what seemed like disdain. “Not _this_ device, if that’s what you’re worried about. This piece is useless on its own. But the sunlight machine itself…” She considered the question for a moment.

“Yeah,” Evelyn finally said. “It could. If someone got hold of my blueprints, or the device itself, they could make a few modifications and transform it into a large-scale WMD.”

“To be perfectly honest,” Winston butted in, “I was worried about that very possibility. I never told you this, Ev, but I only agreed to sell it to the Saudis after they signed a contract drafted by my attorneys that expressly prohibited them from using the prototype as a weapon.”

Evelyn blinked slowly at him. “How very cautious of you, baby brother.”

“Well, better safe than sorry,” Winston replied with a shrug.

“Yeah. Better safe than sorry,” Evelyn repeated, looking distracted as she held the “spotlight” into the light once again and turned it around in her hands. “But let me guess. You didn’t prohibit the Saudis from _selling_ the thing. To buyers who potentially _hadn’t_ signed such a contract.”

Winston turned pale. “Uh,” he said, struck speechless for once. “No.”

“Hmm. Shoulda thought of that.”

“Hang on a sec,” Voyd objected, thinking out loud. “I know Noreen Bowman is a billionaire, but Winston, would she even be wealthy enough to afford to buy something like that?”

“We sold it for two hundred million,” said Winston, still pale. “If the Saudi scientists couldn’t get the prototype to work, I imagine they’d sell it off for a far reduced price. So… unfortunately, the answer is yes. She could. Easily.”

“Huh,” said Evelyn, offering a thin smile to everyone. “Sounds like you all have some big fish to fry.”

 

A few minutes later, Voyd, Artie and Winston were ready to depart from 113 Acacia Crescent, having learned all they needed to know. As they trailed out the door—a slouching Evelyn following close behind—Winston paused to give his sister a bear hug, which she hesitantly returned, looking uncomfortable. Voyd watched the proceedings, feeling an odd mix of sympathy and distaste.

Winston released his sister, still holding onto her shoulders and smiling at her with unrestrained kindness. “Thanks a lot. You really helped us today.”

“Anything I can do…” Evelyn muttered sarcastically, not meeting Winston’s eyes, as though she’d been suddenly struck with guilt. Voyd could understand why. Evelyn had gone against everything Winston believed in, did her best to hurt her brother’s cause in the most violent way imaginable, and still, Winston unconditionally loved her and believed in her. It was enough to make the most hardened criminal feel like a heel. Some part of Voyd _hoped_ Evelyn felt dirty. It was the least the inventor could do to atone.

“Be nice to Susan, okay?” Winston asked of his sister. “For me?”

“Yeah. For you.”

“Perfect. See you later. Be good.”

Winston left, and Artie trailed behind him, leaving only Voyd hesitating in the front doorway. She was about to leave herself, but she heard Evelyn’s raspy voice behind her, pausing her for a moment. The inventor was leaning against the open door, gazing at Voyd with a strange mix of amusement, guilt and… was that _fear_? She couldn’t tell.

“I’m almost sorry you’re leaving, y’know? It’ll get awful dark here at night.”

Voyd hesitated, wavering and unsure of how to respond. “Um, I’m sorry,” she managed to say, internally ruminating on the irony of _her_ apologizing to _Evelyn_. “Maybe Winston can ask the judge to let you have a few lightbulbs or something.”

Evelyn scoffed. “Oh, I doubt it.”

For the briefest of moments, the two women looked at each other, and Voyd almost suspected that Evelyn was about to offer an apology for her actions. For slapping hypnosis goggles over the face of a trusting, unsuspecting Voyd and her friends. For nearly ruining everything.

Winston’s sister opened her mouth… and the moment broke. “Well, see ya,” said Evelyn Deavor, and retreated back into her home, the door closing behind her. Voyd was forced to hop out of the way to avoid having her foot slammed in the door.  

 

On the ride home in Winston’s limo, Artie Fishel blabbered excitedly.

“The sunlight machine! I’d heard of it—from the other guys on my floor, you know—but I thought it was just a DevTech legend. But it’s real. Wow. From what I’ve heard about it, it would’ve been so innovative, it would’ve changed all our lives. And to hear about it from the woman who designed it herself—Christ, I just wanna go back there and talk with her some more. I’d love to take a look at the blueprints, Mr. Deavor, if you still have them.”

“Sure,” replied Winston, though he still seemed slightly shaken from Evelyn’s revelations. “They’re in the main archive. You’re welcome to them.”

As for Voyd, she certainly couldn’t muster the excitement that Artie seemed to feel about this whole situation. She stared out the window, watching the suburban scenery rush by. Visiting Evelyn hadn’t quieted any of her worries, only amplified them. Badly.

“Winston,” she said quietly, “I’m scared that Heartless wants to use your machine to hurt people.”

Winston glanced at her, and in his eyes, she saw that the DevTech billionaire shared her fears. “I get it,” he said, “but try to remain calm for the time being. I’ll gather all the info I have about the sunlight machine, and I’ll go back and speak with Evelyn again to learn more specific details, and DevTech will be happy to share everything we know with the NSA. We can try our best to stay one step ahead of this villain.”

“We can _try_ ,” Voyd whispered, heart pounding with fear from what she’d learned. “Who knows if we’ll do more than that?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh god I was itching to post this chapter. I love Evelyn so much. If they made a religion called Evelynism, I would be the first to sign up.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading. The story is approaching its final stretch, and I hope you'll stay along for the ride. :) :) :)


	22. A Question of Force

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Voyd calls Elastigirl, has a discussion with her friends, and faces the fact that she's losing her mojo.

Karen didn’t have her own phone, so when the overwhelming—but oh so stupid—urge overtook her to call Elastigirl and find out how the family was doing, she was forced to go onto the sidewalk outside her apartment and push a few coins into a payphone’s slot. The black telephone was cool against her ear, and rain misted her face; the sky above was steely. It was early Sunday morning, and she was terrified to call the Incredibles after possibly tearing their lives apart only the day before, but she had to do it. She had to know.

Onto the silver keypad, she pressed the numbers she knew by heart. The phone rang.

Karen barely had time to psych herself up before there was a click on the other end, and a female voice answered, “Hello?”

“H-Hi. It’s me, Voyd.” Even though Elastigirl already knew her given name, Karen still hesitated to use it. It didn’t feel _right_.

When Elastigirl responded, her voice was hard. “Voyd, I’m not trying to be mean, but unless it’s an emergency, I frankly don’t really want to speak with you.”

The words sliced at Karen. Ouch. She suddenly felt like gutter trash for daring to bother the family after she’d turned their lives upside down. “It’s n-not an emergency. I’m s-sorry to bother you. I j-just wanted to know if y-you and Mr. Incredible were d-d-doing okay.”

“Doing okay?” Elastigirl sounded incredulous. “My husband’s depressed out of his mind and spiralling out of control, I’m madder than hell at him, my kids are wondering why their dad won’t _play_ with them anymore, we’re worried about this godforsaken villain coming _after_ us, and—” She caught herself, sucking in a breath.

Karen was blinking back tears, her face burning. Elastigirl hated her. She’d ruined their lives. She knew this would happen. She should never, ever, ever, _ever_ have looked at those journals.

When Helen spoke again, she sounded tired. “I’m sorry I snapped. I know this isn’t your fault. It’s just… hard. We’re not doing great, Voyd. There’s your answer.”

“It’s okay,” said Karen in a small voice. “Um, Elastigirl?”

“What?”

“If you’re w-worried about being threatened, I can ask M-Mr. Dicker to station some NSA agents outside your h-house.”

“Oh, no. Don’t worry about that,” Helen sighed. “If it comes down to it, we can look after ourselves.”

“Okay.”

“Uhhhh…” Helen droned, sounding distracted. “Now that I think about it, Edna asked me to pass a message to you. I’ve just been so busy, I forgot all about it.”

“Edna _Mode_?”

“You know any other Ednas?” Elastigirl asked flatly, but Karen could detect no meanness behind the words. “Yeah, Edna Mode. Uh, she asked me to tell you this. She saw your interview with Chad Brentley, she saw you weren’t wearing the super suit she made you, and she’s not happy. I’m supposed to tell you that you’re forever banned from seeking her services again.”

Karen swallowed hard. “Oh,” she said faintly.

“Ah, sweetie.” Elastigirl now sounded sympathetic. “Look, there are other designers out there. You’ll be fine.”

Karen twiddled the phone cord between her fingers and managed to say, “Yeah, I guess so.”

“Oh, and I’m also supposed to tell you that you’re uninvited from Edna’s fashion gala. Your friends can still come, though.”

“Okay.” Karen had totally forgotten that Edna’s fashion gala was that very night. Earlier, she’d had some faint thoughts about perhaps putting on Edna’s suit for the gala, but other than that, she hadn’t really given it much thought. So, being uninvited wasn’t that much of a blow. Being banned from seeking Edna’s services ever again, though? _That_ was possibly a career death sentence.

Elastigirl exhaled hard, as though expunging her demons. “That all you wanted, Voyd?”

“Yeah. That’s all.”

“Then goodbye.” Click. She was gone.

Karen put the phone back on its hook. It was an unusually cool day, and she watched as her own exhale caused smoke to curl up into the sky. She could relate to Mr. Incredible. Could she ever. Her life was spiralling, too.

 

That afternoon, Voyd sat in the SJP’s common room with fists twisted in her lap, wearing her Galbaki suit, and feeling mighty crummy about it, too. Her friends were gathered around. They’d all agreed they needed to have a serious discussion about Heartless and Queen of Hearts, and so, they’d dragged the various chairs and sofas in the room into a vague semicircle. There the Soaring Six sat, all more solemn than usual.

“So,” said Krushauer, arms folded tightly. “Let’s discuss what we know.”

He-Lectrix leaned forward, elbows balanced on knees, and counted off points with his fingers. “One: the villains are named Noreen and Julie Bowman. Two: they’re a billionaire novelist and a high school student. Three: Noreen has no powers, Julie does. Four: they want to kill supers.”

Voyd interjected. “I think they want supers to kill _each other_. I think that’s their goal. Maybe they want us to humiliate ourselves.”

“Five,” He-Lectrix continued, “they might be using a device designed by Evelyn Deavor to cause some sort of mass destruction. What their plans are, exactly, we don’t know at this time. Especially since there was nothing useful in the information we got from their computer.”

He-Lectrix stared at the others intently. “We have to be ready for when they attack next. That’s just it.”

“Yeah,” Voyd affirmed quietly. “We’ve got to be ready.”

“But what does _being ready_ mean?” Krushauer questioned.

He-Lectrix gave him a look. “Well, what does it mean to _you_?”

Krushauer responded instantly. “It means we need to be ready to kill them.”

Voyd instantly spoke up. “No.”

“What? You want to show them mercy?” Krushauer asked. “After all they’ve done? I don’t _want_ to kill them, but they certainly want to kill us—they’re proven to be violent, ruthless people. In the end, lethal force may be the only way to end this war.”

Voyd shook her head so fast that her turquoise hair whipped about. “No, we can’t kill Queen of Hearts. We just can’t. Heartless, maybe— _maybe_ —but Julie is an innocent. She’s just a kid obeying her mom.”

“I’m in total agreement,” Reflux interjected. “We can’t murder a kid. It’s wrong.”

Krushauer gave a very slight shake of his head. “Would you rather _she_ murdered _you_?”

“Of course not,” Reflux responded, “but—”

“We do not kill child,” Brick said, softly but staunchly. “I will _not_ kill child. Julie does not know what she does. We must have _limits_.”

“We can’t hurt her,” Voyd affirmed, knowing well that her words might come back to bite her in the end, but unwilling to sacrifice Julie’s life, if only verbally. “At whatever cost, we have to keep her safe. I really think she’s an innocent, and we don’t hurt innocents. That’s our whole thing, guys. Saving people that need to be saved. I think Julie Bowman needs to be saved.”

Screech spoke, reasonably as always. “If I may make myself clear, I do not wish to hurt the young girl, and I fully understand your reasoning for wishing to preserve her safety. But with that being said, deadly force may become a necessity—if only to preserve our own lives, as well as those of the civilians we are bound to protect. We must all face this fact. Ending their lives may be the only thing we can do.”

“Yeah, I understand that. But only,” Voyd said, speaking with forceful conviction, “if it’s _absolutely_ necessary. Not before that. And I won’t be the one to do it, guys. I have to be honest. I just can’t…” She trailed off. _I can’t kill that child_. The words remained unspoken.

Krushauer spoke unemotionally. “Sometimes, in this line of work, criminals have to die. It’s a reality we should all become accustomed to.”

“What about brain damage?” Voyd objected.

“Brain damage?” Krushauer repeated, unimpressed.

“Yes. Brain damage. Heartless was _shot in the face_ , Krushauer. She lost an eye from a gunshot blast. Aren’t we overlooking the idea that brain damage might have made her insane? If it did, she’s not responsible for anything. She might need _help_ , not persecution!”

“She’s right,” He-Lectrix said reluctantly, “that’s something to be considered…”

Krushauer was unconvinced. “The way I see it,” the German-accented superhero said, “she murdered two people and that’s it. There are no excuses, and whatever punishment she receives, she deserves.”

“But that might not be true!” Voyd cried, allowing her pain and her inner conflict to get the best of her. “If that’s not the real Noreen Bowman doing these things—”

“And how exactly do we define ‘the real’ Noreen Bowman?” Krushauer asked, gazing at her in expectancy.

Voyd opened her mouth and closed it. She had no answer.

“I thought so,” Krushauer said calmly.

“Sometimes,” Voyd quietly uttered, unable to think of anything else to say in this moment, “forgiveness and compassion are better than revenge.”

“But when does forgiveness go too far?” Krushauer asked. “When is compassion no longer a viable option? You tell me. But I think that time is now.”

She had no answer for this, either.

“He-Lectrix,” Screech said, “you have not spoken. What do you think?”

He-Lectrix seemed reluctant to open his mouth. “I honestly don’t know. I just… I don’t know. I don’t want anybody to die, especially not a teenage kid, but like you guys say, it could be the only way. I’m—I’m just on the fence.”

“You’d better get off that fence,” said Krushauer bluntly, “or you might end up getting shoved off. The moment may come when you are forced to choose in a split second whether you will show mercy or react with deadly force. That split second may cost you your life. That goes for any one of us.”

And, deep down, though she wanted so badly to deny it, Voyd knew that he was right. He was right about everything.

 

Edna Mode’s gala was that night, and of course, the Soaring Six— _Five_ , sorry—wouldn’t have missed it for the world. Voyd told her friends she didn’t feel like going, and kindly encouraged them to have a good time without her. Under different circumstances, the other Six would have been shocked at her refusal, but after the previous day’s events, it was more understandable that Voyd wouldn’t feel like heading out to a party. The rest of them weren’t particularly in the mood, either, but still they went, out of obligation if nothing else.

Voyd didn’t tell them that Edna had disowned her. She didn’t have the heart.

Dressed in the blue-and-green suit that had provoked Edna’s wrath, Voyd flopped down backwards onto a bed in one of the bedrooms at the SJP, letting out a long breath, spread-eagled like a starfish. A lot of things had been ruined for her in the past few days. A lot of things. They swirled around in her brain like malevolent bats, biting and scratching and clawing wherever they could. She was embarrassed and terrified and conflicted and regretful and _stupid_. So _stupid_.

There was only one way to clear her head. The sun was setting, and her opportunity awaited; New Urbem rested on the horizon bathed in sunset gold, beckoning Voyd into its deepest, darkest alleyways. No more time to mope around. She’d go help people. That was what she was _built_ for. That, at least, was a fact that she could never doubt.

Later, as she cycled through the city streets as the sun left its last wispy pink traces in the dark sky above, Voyd spotted two superheroes racing purposefully down the street—both endowed with the power of flight. She recognized them: the super with the blue suit and pink hair was Zephyr, while the one with the purple suit and yellow cape was Diabla. Both of them moonlighted in New Urbem sometimes, though their hometown was Municiberg.

On another night, Voyd might have stopped her fellow supers and inquired what was going on, and if she could help. Today, though, she just watched them zip by as she passed on her cycle, turning her face to the wind once again. Voyd couldn’t bring herself to call out to them. She only wanted to be alone. She wasn’t feeling herself. She was feeling… shaky. Insubstantial. Like a cracked statue, only seconds away from dissolving into dust.

As she passed by a couple walking on the street, she just happened to witness a burly man, dressed all in black, shove one of the women aside and rip the other’s purse from her hands, sprinting away before either of them could react. It all happened within seconds.

Voyd revved her cycle, speeding up and cruising onto the sidewalk, her wheels bumping against the curb. She wheeled up in front of the burglar, stopping his getaway. He skidded to a halt, regarding her with wide eyes.

Oh, man. He was just a teenager. Like Julie.

“Stop, thief!” she ordered, but her voice was less commanding and more faltering than usual. Accordingly, the thief didn’t listen, immediately taking off full-tilt across the street. Voyd lifted a hand, intending to open a portal underneath him.

She missed.

The portal opened to the burglar’s side, not close enough to catch him. Desperate, Voyd growled in frustration and tried again. Her aim was true this time. The portal expanded under the young man, and he fell into the street and out of the sky, thunking harmlessly onto the concrete from a low altitude.

Voyd quickly dismounted from her cycle and approached him, trying not to be nervous, trying her absolute _best_ to not be nervous, but failing. Oh, was she failing. It had been a long time since she’d done hero work alone, and it was throwing her off, not having any backup, no friends to help her if things went wrong.

The boy was slowly rising to his feet, groaning and rubbing his backside. He glared at Voyd with hateful eyes. “Bitch,” he snarled.

Her pity for him decreased dramatically. “Give the purse back to that lady, and I won’t call the police,” she said sharply.

“How about no?” Quicker than she could think, he’d lunged at her. She couldn’t react in time, and before she knew it, he’d shoved her—hard. She landed with an _Oof_ against the pavement, skull impacting on the curb of the sidewalk behind her, and stars danced in her vision. For a few moments, Voyd was unable to think or move, and during those moments she heard the thief’s pounding footsteps as he sprinted away once again, making a clean getaway this time.

When she finally managed to rise, rubbing her injured head and moaning in pain and feeling like a total miserable failure, the guy was gone, and so was the purse, and so were the two civilians she’d been attempting to help. She was alone on the street.

If Artie’s voice hadn’t crackled over her headset at that very moment, Voyd would likely have slunk into some bar somewhere, drank like a fish for several hours (despite the fact that she _didn’t_ drink), and spent the rest of the evening wallowing in a quagmire of self-pity and booze. She was that down. But Artie’s voice did come crackling over her headset at that very moment, and she automatically reached up and pressed the set closer to her ear, suddenly alert and attentive.

Artie sounded frantic, and she couldn’t make out his words. “Artie!” she said urgently. “Slow it down, okay? I don’t understand!”

After taking several calming breaths, Artie managed to meaningfully communicate with her. “It’s Edna, the party. Her house—the villains attacked! It’s just total chaos, Voyd, and they need all hands on deck to help them out. Right now! Hurry!”

Voyd didn’t think twice. She was on her motorcycle before Artie could say another word, speeding as fast as the two wheels could carry her towards the home of Edna Mode.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank you so much for reading. :) Voyd is not having a very good time lately. I am sorry about that. I love her. I promise I love her. I know it doesn't seem like it, but I do.


	23. Party at Edna's Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Soaring Six face another showdown with Heartless and Queen of Hearts - this one taking place at Edna Mode's house.

The other Soaring Six had had the luxury of hopping into Winston’s private jet to whisk them away to Edna’s party. Voyd didn’t have that luxury. She roared along the highway from New Urbem to Metroville, driving her cycle at speeds that would’ve had any regular civilian pulled over in moments. Thankfully, Voyd was not a regular civilian, and the combination of her mask, suit, and tricked-out motorcycle afforded her the ability to go a hundred and fifty miles an hour without being troubled by police.

This was the privilege of being a super. To a disheartening extent, you could do whatever you wanted.

All the way, she was near-paralyzed with fear, her hands seeming to work on their own as they gripped the bike’s handlebars and tapped the controls as needed. Rather than linger frustratedly behind a slow driver, Voyd threw portals ahead of her, skipping through traffic like a stone over water. This shortened her commute by more than half. But it wasn’t good enough.

Voyd’s friends were at the party. _All_ of them, including the Soaring Six, Winston Deavor, and Edna. Heck, even Rick Dicker might be there, for all she knew. Not to mention all the civilian innocents who had simply wanted to mingle at the fashion gala, and who were now paying dearly for it—perhaps even with their lives.

A flicker of hope came forth in her. Maybe the Soaring Six had already managed to beat the menace back without her help.

Or maybe Heartless had killed them all.

Voyd made a terrified squeak of a noise, audible even over the roar of her cycle’s engine and the wind whipping by. _Oh, please, faster faster faster, I’ve gotta get there_ now…

It was quite a distance from New Urbem to Metroville. Voyd had made this same drive only the previous day, and she treaded familiar territory as she blazed a trail of fire along the highway, weaving in and out of traffic and tossing portals where needed. She saw flashes of the faces of gawking civilians as she zoomed by their vehicles.  

Voyd passed the green sign—

_Welcome to sunny Metroville  
Population 1,155,382_

—only a few minutes before she saw the smoke. It wasn’t emanating from the Metroville urban area. Instead, as far as Voyd could see, the huge plume of black smoke that blotted out the starry sky was rising from an area on the outskirts of the city. Edna’s house.

The sight of that great plume of smoke filled Voyd’s entire body with dread. She couldn’t wrench her eyes off it, not even after she exited at 7th Street with the stars wheeling above her, heading from the four-lane highway onto a more subdued, suburban stretch of road. 7th would eventually lead Voyd to the edges of Metroville, a sparsely-populated, affluent neighborhood with gently rolling hills and spacious nature trails. It was there she’d find the mansion of Edna Mode, besieged and aflame.

On this quieter road, Voyd dared to speed up even more, her portals lining up like dominoes, thrown as fast as she could produce them without crashing her bike. She listened as the cycle’s motor screamed in protest, watched as the speedometer’s needle reached 220, 230, 240. Still, it wasn’t fast enough.

Even as she headed down the road, Voyd slowed her bike down considerably as she became aware of human forms zooming past. Her eyes darted from left to right in concern and fear. There were people screaming, fleeing: women in evening dresses clutching designer purses, men in dapper tuxedos, and vice versa as well. Voyd stared at the victims with terror, frozen to the spot.

She finally shook herself out of her brief daze and reached out, grabbing the arm of a passing woman. “Are you okay? Do you need help?”

“Stop them!” the woman shrieked, pointing a shaking, evening-gloved finger in the direction of Edna’s mansion before wrenching free of Voyd’s grasp and dashing away once again.

Voyd stared at the woman’s retreating form for a few moments, frozen to the spot, before she came back to herself again and resumed her journey towards the scene of the crime.

Edna Mode’s home was situated at the top of a hill, much like Evelyn Deavor’s—although, unlike Evelyn, Edna owned the _entire_ hill. As Voyd approached the long, winding driveway that would lead up to the mansion, she realized something was wrong. She’d whizzed past the gates on her cycle before she realized it. Edna Mode’s electric gates had been destroyed, reduced to a twisted pile of stone and steel, and no longer protected the entry to the designer’s home. Not that it would’ve helped much against Heartless and Queen of Hearts, anyhow, Voyd thought bitterly to herself.

As her cycle made the climb up the hill, horror dawned on Voyd as she quickly discovered that Edna’s mansion was much the same as her gates. Rubble.

Voyd’s eyes fixed upon the mansion, or what was left of it. Edna’s house—previously so proud and artistic and well-designed, with its huge glass windows—was a mess, and that was understanding matters. In two separate parts of the mansion, there were holes ripped in the sides. Glass had been smashed, concrete reduced to showerings of debris, metal twisted and wrapped around itself where it had previously framed a dozen windows. Smoke rose from the wreckage, produced by unseen fires. From the ruin poured a trickle of partygoers, some dusty and disheveled, but none looking seriously harmed, to Voyd’s small relief.

Staring at this disarray, a thought crossed Voyd’s mind. With her energetic powers, Queen of Hearts could topple _buildings_. She could twist and deform a house into an unrecognizable shape, if she so desired. She’d done the same to Houghton Heights mall, what seemed like a century ago. So why weren’t the Soaring Six dead yet? By all indications, they should all be in their graves right now. Julie’s full strength was too formidable for them—or anyone. That much was clear. If her powers could cause destruction like this, what could they do to _bodies_?

Voyd wanted to believe that Julie was holding back. Her mother could force her to do property damage, but the teenager didn’t want to _kill_ anybody, least of all the Soaring Six—and she was trying her best to avoid it. Voyd was convinced of this. And, staring at the ruin of Edna’s house and the evidence it provided, Voyd was more determined than ever to keep Julie Bowman safe and deliver her from her mother’s clutches.

Voyd shook herself out of her thoughts. Now was the worst possible time to get lost in her own head. She revved her cycle once again, roaring up the hill.

Voyd abandoned the motorcycle outside after fumbling with the button on her key that turned the cycle invisible, almost throwing the thing to the ground in frustration. Then, she rushed into Edna’s home, through the tilted ruins of what had once been the front doors. She barreled down dark hallways, the only light coming from minor electrical fires, or from the small light fixtures mounted above the superhero costumes on display. Many of which were torn, shredded, or destroyed entirely. The sight made Voyd ill. Heartless’s doing, no doubt about that.

Distantly, echoing down the halls, she heard booms, faint screams, crashes, buzzing lightning-sounds. Her friends were fighting the villains. She had no clue if they were winning. She didn’t even know if her presence would tip the odds. She just knew that no matter what, she wouldn’t let Queen of Hearts take over her emotions again. Voyd’s heart was her own; no one was its queen. And now that she knew exactly what Julie Bowman could do, it was gonna take a heck of a lot worse to put Voyd out of commission.

Optimistically.

After what felt like an hour of running—using portals to expedite the process—Voyd emerged, stumbling into Edna’s courtyard. What had once been a splendid display of wealth and taste was now in shambles. The great brass statue of the man with the spear had toppled, lying face-down; water gushed from underneath. There was rubble everywhere, chairs and tables—no doubt in preparation for the party—strewn left and right. The ground was ripped up in some places, collateral from the battle that was taking place before Voyd’s very eyes. To Voyd’s horror, she realized there were a few civilian bystanders in formal clothing still cowering among the wreckage, trying to make themselves as small as possible.

He-Lectrix—bruised and weary-looking, but still on his feet—aimed a blast of electricity at… well, Voyd didn’t exactly know what it was. It was some sort of huge, glowing red bubble. Inside were two forms… she squinted, and her heart sank. Inside were Heartless and her daughter. Heartless let out a wild bark of laughter as He-Lectrix’s lightning deflected easily from the bubble, the inside remaining unpenetrated.  

“Goddammit!” He-Lectrix yelled, desperate and frustrated.

From inside the red bubble, a stone-faced Queen of Hearts let a beam of energy fly from her gloved hands. It escaped their protective cocoon as easily as though it were a mere soap bubble—yet didn’t damage the bubble whatsoever—and flew towards He-Lectrix, who barely dodged it in time.

The other heroes were standing around as well, in defensive poses. Voyd was overwhelmed with a sweet rush of relief as she realized all her friends were alive and relatively uninjured, though they each looked confused and exasperated. Voyd noticed a layer of dried, hard black material around the rim of where the bubble sat—Reflux had tried his hand, unsuccessfully. She imagined the same was true for the rest of her friends, too. The bubble, whatever its origin, was immune to their powers.

Only time would tell if it was immune to _hers_ , too.

Voyd was about to raise her hands and create a portal inside the bubble, but she heard a loud, ominous _creeeeeaa-a-a-ak_ from beside her. She turned her head slowly, gulping as she considered what she might find there.

She took it all in within an instant. Above, a large balcony—half-hanging down, ruined and destroyed, just about to topple and buckling under its own weight. Below it, a small, still figure lying supine, a figure who was undeniably human and undeniably about to get crushed.

Voyd’s mind instantly left the bubble. Without thinking, she threw a portal next to the small figure and another beside herself, and leapt through it, emerging on the other side. She only had a split second to scoop up the dazed person—Edna? No, it couldn’t be. Oh, wait, yeah it was—and step through another portal, and then, _crash_. Where they’d been a second before, the ground was obliterated under the collapsed structure, leaving nothing but ruin and rubble.

They’d emerged in the shadows next to the house, and since it was night, they were able to escape unseen; the fighting heroes and villains briefly glanced over at the collapsing balcony, but then once again turned to their battle, which seemed more like a standoff than a classic hero-villain fight. Voyd laid Edna gently down onto the ground, leaning her against the wall. The designer—who was wearing a very fashionable black-and-white spotted coat and black trousers—blinked slowly, regaining her senses. Fury followed immediately afterward.

“My house. What have they done to my _house_? I will kill them.” Edna tried to rise to her feet.

Voyd believed her. “Ms. Mode,” she whispered, gently but insistently pushing the small frame back against the wall (which she’d _never_ have dared to do outside of these circumstances), “I don’t think that’s a good idea. They’ll kill you first.”

As if to illustrate Voyd’s words, at that exact moment, Brick tried to rush at the villainesses’ bubble, and was met with a blast of red energy from Queen of Hearts’ hands. The blast sent the huge superheroine flying backwards as though she were lighter than a paperweight.

“Your point taken,” said Edna darkly and dryly, offering no resistance. “The killing shall have to occur at some later date.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“I see you are still wearing that hobo suit,” said the designer, eyes narrowed.

Voyd winced and prepared for a verbal smackdown, but it never came. “I suppose I shall have to forgive you,” Edna reluctantly said. “And offer you my gratitude. Though you may have abysmal taste in fashion the likes of which I have never seen, surely my life is worth more than a silly old suit.”

“Does that mean I’m unbanned?” Voyd asked hopefully, a slow, nervous smile taking shape on her face.

“The ban is rescinded. You are hereby free to seek my services in future. Provided, of course, that we both survive this miserable day with our mental and physical faculties intact.”

“Leave _that_ to me. You’d better get out of here, Ms. Mode. Wait—where’s Winston? And Rick?”

“Both of them have long since been evacuated, _dahling_. Considering that I am _not_ a superhero, I think it would be wisest for me to join them.”

“I think so, too, Ms. Mode.”

Edna shakily rose to her feet and tottered down the nearby hallway back inside the house without a second glance, leaving Voyd alone.

A loud, shrill scream caught her attention—not just anyone’s scream, but the piercing sound of Screech’s wail. Voyd quickly whipped around and saw that Screech was hovering above the villains’ bubble, and that his painful squawk had done nothing to deter them. Heartless was glancing up at the flying super, amused. She then cast her glance around at the Soaring Six, each of them in turn, her gaze finally fixing on Voyd, who felt a chill run through her whole body as Heartless regarded her with a cool, dead eye.

“Is that really the best you all can do?” asked Heartless in a conversational tone; her voice was slightly muffled, made tinny and artificial through the filter the bubble created. “I’m surprised we didn’t slaughter you all back when you invaded my home. No matter. We’ll make some progress here, won’t we?”

She looked to her side. There, cowering against the ground, were three civilians, huddled up against the edge of what used to be Edna’s shallow marble pool. Two men wore tuxedoes: one a regular black, the other a vibrant purple. The woman wore a bright red dress and a feathered hat. They all looked terrified out of their wits.

Heartless’s lips arced into a wide smile. “But then again, it’s always more fun to use bait.”

Voyd’s heart dropped.

“Are any of you supers willing to give up your lives for these people? Because, you know, someday… there may be no other choice.” With that, she made a flippant gesture at her daughter, which Queen of Hearts understood perfectly.

“Mom,” said Queen of Hearts quietly.

“Yes, my love?” said Heartless.

Queen of Hearts shook her head, but on some level, Voyd could see that—despite the teenager’s superpowers—she was just as scared of her mother as everyone else was. With a regretful wince already forming on her face, Julie Bowman sent a beam of red energy towards the civilians.

Screech yelled and swooped towards the protective bubble; Krushauer and He-Lectrix both raised their hands desperately, apparently intending to crush or zap the bubble, though all of them surely knew it’d be no use. Voyd was the only one who could help here. Without allowing herself time to think, she reached out a hand, a wild terror forming in her—a terror that, just like with the young thief earlier, she would miss.

She didn’t. It all happened within a split instant. As Queen of Hearts’ beam shot straight toward the civilians, a perfect portal opened up underneath them, just big enough to swallow all three civilians up. They emerged harmlessly from a portal next to Voyd, thunking on their backsides against the ground.

“Go! Run!” Voyd hissed at them, and though bewildered and terrified, they didn’t need a second warning. Each of them scrambled to their feet and fled, disappearing down the dark hallway that led into Edna’s ruined home.

Her friends now realized Voyd was there and were staring at her with a mix of shock and relief. As for Heartless, the romance novelist didn’t look phased.

“Nifty trick, huh?” the masked villainess said, smiling. “Oh, well. You’re easily dealt with. But we already know that, don’t we?”

Another silent gesture to her daughter. Queen of Hearts lifted a hand towards Voyd, and she felt that wave impact her in the gut again, trying to rip away her sanity. But this time, Voyd was prepared, fortified, and she fought back.  She stared at Queen of Hearts and stared hard, scowling in determination and doing battle against the hostile feelings of total uncertainty that threatened to overwhelm her every sense. She countered them with things she knew for sure. Her name was Voyd. Her name was Karen. She was a super. She loved to help people. Her friends loved her. Her friends fought on her side. The ground beneath her feet was solid and the sky above would not come crashing down, despite what Queen of Hearts’ lies were telling her.

“Not today,” she said out loud, her voice surprisingly clear. “You’re not gonna get me today.”

Queen of Hearts looked shocked at Voyd’s resistance, and even Heartless blinked in surprise before resuming her cool neutrality again. “So, you’ve learned a new trick. How novel, but it doesn’t matter.”

“No, but _this_ does.”

 If Voyd’s next “trick” hadn’t worked properly, that quip would have looked pretty silly. Lucky for her, it did work. She reached out and created two portals. One flashed open directly in front of Brick. The other, inside the bubble with Heartless and Queen of Hearts.

It was an impulsive choice, and Voyd only had a moment to regret not choosing a faster, less bulky hero such as He-Lectrix or Screech. But in the end, it didn’t make a difference. Brick instantly seized the chance. The muscular superheroine barreled through the void, emerging right in front of Heartless and Queen of Hearts, both of whom looked as though the rug had been ripped out from under them. Ever stoic and brave, Brick wasted no time in attacking the two villains. With a swing of her massive fist, Heartless was knocked against the bubble’s “wall.” Queen of Hearts was harder to touch; desperate, she threw up her hands and blasted a beam of energy towards Brick, which Brick struggled and pushed against.

As Brick and Queen of Hearts fought, He-Lectrix sent more undulating bolts of blue lightning toward the bubble. “Let’s see how much pressure this baby can stand,” he snarled through gritted teeth.

“I’m with you.” Krushauer added his own powers to the mix, raising his hands. Voyd could hear the bubble audibly groan under the pressure of Krushauer’s mental strength—and, perhaps, the combined efforts of He-Lectrix’s lightning bolts.

“Don’t count me out!” With those words, Reflux belched a stream of white-hot magma towards the red bubble, coating it in lava which steamed and hissed against its surface.

For the moment, Voyd had done all she could; she could just watch. And watch she did, with growing fear. If the bubble did break, and He-Lectrix’s lightning along with Reflux’s lava hit the Bowmans—and Brick—all at once, who knew who would die and who would live?

Voyd was growing extremely uneasy, and she was just about to open her mouth and warn her fellow heroes. Reflux’s lava was sliding from the bubble’s surface in opaque orange sheets, and as one of the sheets slipped away, Voyd briefly caught a glimpse of Brick, struggling to fight against a beam of Queen of Hearts’ power.

Queen of Hearts looked directly into Voyd’s eyes, and the young super raised her hand.

Voyd prepared for the wave of heightened emotions. It didn’t arrive.

The magma stream stopped.

Voyd’s gaze darted towards Reflux. The elderly super was just standing there, a blank expression on his wrinkled face, a spot of lava still clinging to his lip like lettuce after a meal.

“Ain’t no point,” the old super muttered. “I’m no part of this team anyhow.”

“What?” Voyd asked, terror and confusion sweeping over her. “Reflux, what are you talking about?”

Reflux abruptly sat down. Just sat, right there on the floor, plopping down onto his backside and crossing his arms defiantly. “I ain’t getting up,” the super said with steel in his voice. “And none of you can make me, either.”

Oh, god. This was Queen of Hearts’ doing, and Voyd knew it.

Inside the bubble, Queen of Hearts—with a scowl and scream of effort—increased the force of her energy beam so that Brick was knocked backwards, and then ceased it for a moment. She raised her other hand. Straight towards He-Lectrix.

 _Two at once?_ That wasn’t fair.

“Oh, Christ…” The lightning bolts stopped cold. He-Lectrix lowered his hands, staring at the ground with a look of total conflict upon his face. “Christ…” he repeated.

“What’s wrong?” Voyd demanded desperately, taking a step toward him, even though she knew deep down that nothing she could do would help.

The words seemed barely able to slip from He-Lectrix’s mouth. “I… I almost killed her…” He trailed off.

Oh, no, not _that_ —

Without any further ado, He-Lectrix let out a groan that quickly morphed into a scream. He bent half over, his hands grasping his head as though he were in great pain.

Out of the corner of her eye, Voyd spotted Heartless wearing a huge smile.

Voyd took another step forward, a futile step. “He-Lectrix, please don’t—”

Her words went unheeded. He-Lectrix’s hands shot toward her, and his lightning did, too. She was barely able to throw herself to the floor as the electric bolts passed just over her head, singeing a few strands of blue hair.

“Oh, no, _please_ don’t!” she cried in dismay, but it was no use. A repeat of the Dehydra incident—only this time, featuring one of her closest friends—seemed inevitable. More lightning passed just above her head, crackling as it went.

“Please, you know this is not you,” came Screech’s voice from above, as the owlish superhero swooped down overhead. “You must calm yourself.”

“Reason won’t help. You all know we have to fight him now,” Krushauer said with his customary bluntness, but Voyd detected horror behind his words.

Just as Voyd had stumbled to her feet—helped by Screech, who had just landed beside her, with his clawed hand pulling her by her elbow—a bolt of lightning hit her square in the chest, and she reeled backwards, almost falling over once again. She’d never been at the receiving end of He-Lectrix’s power—well, in games, sure, but not like this. Not when he really _meant_ it. It was horrible. The agony fizzed through her chest, spreading like a virus, and she felt her heart sputter and skip a beat, then two. For a moment, all she could do was teeter where she stood, unable to even think.

“Voyd!” came Screech’s concerned yell, but she was unable to answer him.

“That’s it,” Krushauer stated, and with a motion of his hands, the nearby bronze statue crumpled with groans and creaks into a ball-shaped mass of metal. With his mental powers, Krushauer tossed this ball at He-Lectrix, but he missed by a foot.

Voyd was just barely gaining her senses back, but she was present enough to scream at Krushauer, “Oh, god, no, don’t kill him!”

“I am not trying to kill him!” came Krushauer’s growled response. “I was trying to merely _brush_ him—to knock him off his feet!”

“That’s a pity,” came Heartless’s smooth, happy voice.

With fury, Krushauer whirled on her. “You, you’re the cause of this!”

“Not me,” said Heartless contentedly. “My pretty daughter, here. My intelligent, _powerful_ daughter. She loves to put on a show for her mother. Don’t you, gem?”

Julie Bowman’s lips were pressed together hard in concentration, and she did not respond to her mother.

Another bolt of lightning came from He-Lectrix towards his friends, and this time, Screech was hit and sent stumbling backwards. Voyd—who was still trying to shake off his last lightning bolt—found herself hoping that Brick would do something. But unfortunately, it seemed as though Queen of Hearts’ last blast of energy had been enough to put Brick out of commission, and the huge superheroine lay at the bottom of the bubble, dazed and unmoving—though, at least, alive.

Something had to be done. And the someone to do it was Voyd.

She was unwilling to hurt her friend, but they couldn’t go on like this. Knowing that, Voyd cringed as she raised her hand, creating a void underneath He-Lectrix’s feet.

Voyd had no intention of hurting him—really and truly, she didn’t—but he got hurt anyway. Her intention was simply to drop him from a far enough height that he’d be winded and stunned, but _not_ nearly far enough to harm him. She miscalculated. He-Lectrix dropped from what must’ve been eight feet in the air, and landed hard. His feet crumpled beneath him and he let out a yell of pain, crumpling into a heap on the ground.

Voyd wasn’t sure what was worse—He-Lectrix’s cry of pain, or the hysterical laugh that followed from Noreen Bowman. Guilt overwhelmed her, looking at her crumpled teammate, and tears welled into her eyes. “I’m sorry…” she whispered.

For the moment, her defenses were down. That moment was more than enough. Now, Queen of Hearts was able to win her target over.

The wave hit Voyd again, and she couldn’t defend against it, not this time. Now, it wasn’t just her uncertainty. All her emotions—instability, guilt and shame over everything she’d done, anger and fear—all became part of an enormous tsunami whose force was indescribable. It was truly like being underwater, like being drowned. Everything was so far amplified, was so much worse, that it wasn’t even like being _human_ anymore. She was like some kind of animal, an animal whose only experience is emotion, whose only desire is a primal need to escape.

She heard one of her teammates calling her name in worry—exactly whom, she couldn’t identify—but she was far gone by now, way beyond their reach. Queen of Hearts’ power was unlike anything she’d ever experienced. She found herself very distantly thinking: _This could kill me_.

Escape was her only thought. Escape, escape _everything_. She threw out her hands, animalistically, a scream erupting from her lips, subconsciously seeking release.

The tingle wasn’t a _tingle_ this time. It felt like her fingers had been asleep for a decade, and she was only just now getting around to twitching them. The static-like feeling crawled into her fingers, rendering them numb from its intensity, and crept up into her forearms.

She could feel—but not _see_ , as her eyes were clenched tightly shut—that she’d created the portal to end all portals.

Wind, rushing. Screaming.

The wave subsided—if only slightly—and Voyd dared open her eyes.

She knew it without even having to look, though. She’d opened a portal, below the house, the whole building, the ground underneath, and everyone inside—and she’d sent them all soaring into the sky. Only god knew how far they were falling from—fifty thousand feet? More?—but Voyd, at the very least, knew they were high enough that no one would survive the landing.

If she’d previously known she had such power within her, Voyd might’ve spared a moment to be proud. Right now, though, all she could muster was dread and guilt and horror.

The bubble had disappeared, and Voyd could see Heartless and Queen of Hearts heading off to places unknown. For the briefest instant, Queen of Hearts turned and looked straight at Voyd, and Voyd could see tears staining the teenager’s face, streaking over her mask.

The girl mouthed, _I’m sorry_.

Then they were gone. Both of them.

Voyd’s friends were scattered about; all light was now gone, especially since Heartless’s glowing bubble had disappeared, and she could barely see their forms crouched against the rapidly-falling ground. If she didn’t do something, if _somebody_ didn’t do something, they would all die. Except maybe Screech, with his wings—but Voyd wasn’t sure Screech would abandon his teammates to save herself. Although, if it came down to it, she hoped he would. And maybe Brick would live too, but that wasn’t a given—it was untested exactly how much force Brick could survive. And Voyd had no doubt that this fall would produce a whole lot of force.

And if the home hit the ground…then it wasn’t just a question of _their_ lives, but of the lives of all the people below who could possibly be directly hurt by such a huge impact. This fall had to be stopped, and it had to be stopped now.

Desperate, Voyd thrust out her hands, trying to replicate the huge portal she’d created only moments before, which would hopefully—under her control—bring them safely back to land.

Nothing.

She did so again, with a growl of frustration.

Nothing.

She tried again and again, trying her best—trying to visualize an enormous void, trying to feel those tingles once again in her hands, trying to use her emotions to force herself to get the job done. Nothing worked. She just simply couldn’t replicate it. She couldn’t even make small portals, now—no hope of saving themselves that way, either. She’d been drained of her power.

She was going to die. Terror made her nauseous.

It had been a few minutes. They had to be close to impact now. She was going to die in the next few seconds.

Voyd found herself, in her dying moments, wishing she’d asked Daisy out on a date. And, even more fervently, wishing she’d had more time to be a hero. To be a _better_ hero.

Nearby, she saw someone’s muscular form slowly struggle to their feet. It was Krushauer, and as he lifted his gloved hands, Voyd realized that he was going to try and save them. How, she had no clue.

She heard a titanic noise—the _groan, screech, smash, wail, clamp, clang_ of metal and concrete and glass mashing together—and realized that Krushauer was doing something very, very crazy.

Screech swooped down next to her without warning, a gloomy form in the dark. “Grab onto my leg,” he said matter-of-factly, leaving no room for argument.

Voyd didn’t argue. She reached down and grasped hold of Screech’s owl-like, clawed appendage at the ankle, and before she knew it, the super was flapping away, with Voyd dangling from his leg like a keychain. Within moments, Screech had collected the other supers, too. Brick held his other ankle—though Screech nearly buckled under her weight—and, with her huge arms, she was able to hold onto the dazed Reflux and He-Lectrix. Below, the entire structure was buckling, with Krushauer standing calmly at the very center, stretching his arms out wide. To Voyd’s shock, Edna’s mansion had almost folded in half since the last time she’d seen it. The structure was quickly giving way to Krushauer’s enormous power.

Screech made no sound—he was probably too exerted—as he kept himself and the other four afloat in the air. Below them, what remained of Edna’s grand mansion was about to hit the ground, but Voyd strongly suspected its impact would be way less than what she’d feared—mostly because Krushauer had reduced it to the size of a basketball. Edna Mode’s mansion. A basketball. Voyd could only imagine how dense the thing was.

The “mansion” was too small, and Krushauer was now free-falling, way too close to the earth for comfort. Screech dove down, and Krushauer reached out, able to grab onto Brick’s ankle and break his fall. With great effort and exertion, Screech flapped his wings hard, again and again, sending them further into the air as the “mansion” plummeted below them.

The “basketball” hit the ground where Edna’s mansion had previously occupied the space. It let out a resounding boom, and a cloud of dust—both natural dirt and concrete—filled the air, but other than that, no harm seemed done. Other than the fact that Edna’s hill was now all but barren, her house and all her possessions gone.

As for the Soaring Six, they lived up to their name. Screech soared through the air, carting—with a great deal of effort—his friends underneath him. He managed to let them all out onto the ground safely before collapsing in exhaustion, his wing covering his face and his whole body heaving with the force of his panting. As for Voyd, she lay flat on her back, something sharp poking into her head, panting hard as well and staring upwards into the black sky and the pinprick stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea how motorcycles work. Or physics. Forgive me.  
> Thank you for reading.


	24. What Doesn't Kill You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aftermath of the battle at Edna's house, and Voyd makes an impulsive choice.

Voyd lay on her side on a lumpy, uncomfortable gurney in the NSA headquarters’ private superhero clinic—which was, to be honest, a pretty dusty place that hadn’t been updated in twenty years. The clinic was small, walls painted a powdery blue, an outdated picture of a sailboat hanging crookedly on one wall.

There was only one official superhero doctor in the world, and he was currently MIA, so Voyd and the team had been checked over by a regular physician. Voyd had long since been deemed physically fine, if mentally a little worse for wear, and the bustling nurse had gone straight over to He-Lectrix, who was still practically comatose and sporting two sprained ankles. The team were exhausted, beat-up, injured and bruised, and most of them sported ice packs pressed against elbows or resting on stomachs.

All her fault, by the way.

Voyd sat, numb, facing away from her friends and curled up into a ball. She didn’t want to look at them, didn’t want to remember how greatly she had failed them. She’d thought she could resist Queen of Hearts’ strange gift, but as it turns out, Voyd was weaker than a kitten compared to the teenage villainess. She was just plain useless. That was all. A failure in every way.

She hadn’t yet learned whether anyone had been hurt or killed in the incident at the mansion, and the question haunted her with every breath, sharp like a sword through the stomach.

She listened to her friends’ muted, subdued conversation. “I’m… sorry,” Reflux mumbled, sounding quite ashamed. “Dunno what that broad did to me. I’m just sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Brick said kindly. “No one blame you.”

“She made me feel… just lousy,” Reflux said, anger slowly building in his words. “She took everything and just made it… _Damn!_ ” Unable to find the words, the elderly super slammed his fists against his gurney in frustration—or, at least, from the loud thump that she heard, Voyd assumed he’d done that.

“Calm down,” said Krushauer. “It’s like Brick said: nobody is blaming you. Those villains get inside your head. That’s what they do. It could have happened to any of us.”

Suddenly, Voyd heard the door slip open, and Winston Deavor’s voice. “God, aren’t you all a sight for sore eyes! I’m glad to see you’re all, well, _relatively_ okay.”

For once, the presence of the billionaire made Voyd more annoyed than anything, and she curled up tighter, wishing he’d just go away.

Artie was with him; she heard the young inventor’s concerned voice, too. “Man, you guys look _terrible_. I mean—no offense intended. Screech, your wings…?”

“…operated perfectly,” Screech confirmed tiredly. “There was not one single flaw with their performance, nor are they damaged or scratched. Most satisfactory, thank you.”

“Glad to hear it. Hey, you mind if I just take a quick—”

“This is probably not a good time.” Krushauer spoke up, and his word was law.

“Oh.” Artie was disappointed and chastised. “Okay.”

“I just want to congratulate you guys,” Winston Deavor said. “That could’ve been a real doozy of an incident, but you managed to defuse the situation with minimal loss of life. That’s something to be commended.”

“Yeah,” Artie chimed in, “you guys really did great. Wish there’d been a news crew around to capture all the action.”

Voyd thought Artie was just about the _only_ one who wished that.

Reflux spoke up hesitantly. “Whaddaya mean, _minimal_ loss of life?”

“Two confirmed deaths,” Winston informed him. “Seems they were both personal chefs of Edna’s who decided staying in the kitchen was a better idea than evacuating. Not your fault. Not at all.”

Not her fault? Voyd couldn’t believe that, and learning of the deaths just added another two stones into the weighed-down net that was her mental state, slowly sinking into the blue-black bottom of the sea.

She heard the door open yet again, and Rick Dicker’s growling voice, sounding surlier than usual. “Everybody okay? No broken bones, no missing limbs?”

“He-Lectrix has two sprained ankles—other than that, they’re peachy,” Winston informed him. “Physically, at least. I think they’re feeling a little down, and I can’t blame ’em. But physically—all good.”

Rick grunted. “Can’t say the same for the situation outside.”

Voyd twisted over for the first time, staring at Rick. “What do you mean?” she demanded, terrified that more people had died than they’d previously thought.

The stooped, gray-haired NSA agent stared back, looking tired and near-impassive, as always. “There’s something of an uproar out there. Michael Maple is leading the charge.”

Voyd’s heart sunk at the mere mention of Maple’s name. Reflux crossed his arms and scowled. “What is he on about _this_ time?”

“He’s campaigning to have the United States government foot the bill for the damages to Edna Mode’s house,” Rick replied. “Which, I’ll remind you, was totally destroyed.”

“And… just how much did Edna’s house cost to build?” ventured Voyd, petrified of the answer.

“Fifty million. Before taxes. In nineteen-fifty-nine dollars, I’ll add. It was one of the most high-tech and valuable properties in the States. And that was just the house—never mind all the valuables inside, the classic super suits, one-of-a-kind technology, several priceless works of art, and so forth.”

Oh, god, the super suits. Voyd hadn’t even had time to _think_ about that. All those classic suits, Edna’s beautiful designs, wrecked, ruined, torn to shreds, crushed, disintegrated, twisted among the rubble… She made a tiny groan of pain, small enough that the others didn’t notice.

“Don’t draw this out, man,” Krushauer exclaimed. “How much is it going to cost us _today_? _After_ taxes?”

“One hundred million,” sighed Rick.

Oh. Oh, wow. It was worse than she’d dared to dream.

“Believe it or not, I’m not the head honcho at the NSA. I have superiors, and they’re not happy. Especially with you, Voyd. Hate to tell ya, but it’s true. Media isn’t happy either. The press are having a field day with this.”

“Wait—not happy with Voyd? What has Voyd done?” Brick asked, speaking up for the first time.

“That portal she opened up under the mansion.” Rick turned to her. “Nice trick, Voyd, but it didn’t work out exactly as you planned. The damages to the house would’ve been far less extensive without it. Same goes for Krushauer—without him crushing the entire thing to smithereens, there might’ve been a few salvageable items. Sorry, fellas, but that’s just the way the higher-ups are interpreting things.”

“ _Trick_?” Voyd was aghast. “You think I opened that portal… as a tactic in the fight?”

Rick blinked. “Didn’t you?”

“No! It was Queen of Hearts! She overtook me, made my emotions so much stronger, and I was… I just had no control over what I was doing. If I could’ve helped it, I would’ve, Rick. I swear. I didn’t even know I could _do_ that.” She found herself staring down at her hands, still encased in their hero gloves. Locked down deep inside her, there was the power to create portals as big as a house…

It was oddly terrifying.

“Doesn’t matter whether you meant to do it or not,” Rick said bluntly. “The government and the public are both unhappy and baying for blood. That’s just all there is to it.”

“Well, what _should_ we have done?” Voyd demanded, anger bubbling up in her like a witch’s cauldron. “Should we have just stood by and watched?”

Rick’s heavy-browed face scowled, and Voyd could tell she was pushing the agent’s buttons. “No, Voyd. That’s not what I expect and you damn well know it. I know you heroes aren’t capable of standing by and watching. That isn’t your nature. But sometimes your intervention can be incredibly costly for the government and the taxpayer.”

She exploded, snapping at Rick with the ferocity of an unchained pit bull. “Sometimes they _do_ just stand around and watch—just ask Mr. Incredible. If you want us to do that, all you have to do is say so. Why don’t you just say it? You, the government, the news people, everyone. Why don’t you all just say out loud that you don’t want us to help? Go on. _Say it!_ ”

Everyone was staring at Voyd, whose chest was heaving and face burning with rage. As she looked at the faces of Rick—disappointed, but unsurprised—and her friends and teammates—shocked, worried, even slightly afraid—Voyd’s anger melted into something far more fragile. She couldn’t be in this room with these people she’d disappointed and let down over and over and over, not for one more single second. She pushed herself off from the gurney and darted from the room, pushing past Rick and Winston as she went.

Outside there was a dark hallway. Voyd leaned against the wall just outside the door, face buried in her hands, heaving silent sobs. After a few minutes, she’d finally collected herself—to a relative extent, of course—and came back to Earth again. She heard voices emanating from within the room, low and cautious. Despite her own misgivings, Voyd allowed herself to eavesdrop. Just this once.

“No, really, Rick. I _will_.”

Rick Dicker sighed. “I know you will, Win. You’ve always had a heart bigger than your pockets are deep.”

“I don’t know about that, Rick—my pockets are _pretty_ deep.”

“Not this deep. I know you mean well, but even you can’t afford to throw money around like this. A hundred million—”

“No, no, I won’t hear another word about it. I can and I will. A hundred million is peanuts. Remember how much my dad donated to the NSA back in the glory days?” Winston chuckled. “You guys practically had gold coins coming outta your ears!”

Voyd heard the ghosts of memories haunting Rick’s voice. “Those were different times.”

“Not _that_ different.” Winston Deavor’s tone changed, became more somber. “You and I both know what caused the government to illegalize hero work. Those lawsuits. The cost to Uncle Sam’s wallet. I won’t let it happen again, Rick, and I mean that. I don’t want this new generation to live under financial burdens. It just breaks my heart, the strain they’re under, all because they want to help. I’ll do whatever I can. Even if it bankrupts me.”

Winston’s generosity both warmed Voyd’s heart and broke it in two. It was because of _her_ mistake that Winston was being compelled to pay the price for their failures. Another thing that was her fault.

Winston and Rick continued to gently argue for a few more minutes, and though all her friends were in the room along with them, none of their voices joined the discussion. Voyd understood that, and she understood it well. The Soaring Six were exhausted beyond what they could stand. This was the life of a hero. Not glitzy and glamorous, mysterious and fun. Grueling. Boring. Painful. Drained you to your bones.

She felt a light touch on her shoulder. He-Lectrix had come out into the hallway, limping on two sprained and bandaged ankles. Despite the physical and emotional agony she knew he’d endured, his face was kind and concerned. “You doing okay? Wanna talk about it?”

She shook her head, tucking a stray strand of hair behind an ear. “Oh—no. I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”

“Kind of hard _not_ to,” he said pointedly.

“What are you talking about? You broke both your legs. Worry about yourself.” She was exaggerating, of course—joking, although she had never been in less of a joking mood. And she knew her tired smile didn’t reach her eyes. She felt the sudden urge to apologize to him again, but earlier in the day, she’d said sorry so many times that he’d eventually been forced to tell her in no uncertain terms to shut up. She knew he felt like garbage for what he’d done, too—He-Lectrix was just slightly better at hiding it than she was.

“I’m serious, Voyd—I know you’re not doing okay. I know you need to talk about it. It’s the same for all of us, you know?”

She exhaled. “Later, maybe. I just wanna be alone. Is that okay?”

He gave up, didn’t press the matter. “Yeah, I get it. That’s okay.”

“I gotta go home. Take care of those legs, huh? And…” She paused, wringing her hands guiltily. “Can you tell Rick I’m sorry for snapping at him?”

He-Lectrix rolled his eyes. “You have nothing to be sorry about. Dicker lives up to his name sometimes. He’s supposed to be on our side, but sometimes I wonder.”

“Yeah… but anyway, would you please just tell him? I feel bad about it.” She shuffled her feet, looking at the ground. “I mean… it’s been a rough few weeks, and I just…”

“Hey. You don’t need to explain yourself. Seriously. If he’d talked to me like that, I would have had a few choice words for him, too.”

But Voyd couldn’t help feeling like a jerk. She’d made herself look like a raging monster in front of all her friends, and it was impossible not to feel stupid and embarrassed—especially since Rick was right: she _had_ destroyed Edna’s mansion, even if accidentally, and it was everyone else who should be angry with _her_. “Just tell him, alright?” she pleaded. “Tell him I’m sorry. Actually… tell them all I’m sorry.”

“Look, Voyd—”

“Just do it. Please? Okay?”

He-Lectrix stopped arguing. “Yeah,” he said. “Okay.”

Resisting the compulsion to apologize to He-Lectrix again—because he’d probably tell her to shut up if she did—Voyd just muttered, “I’ll see you later.” With that, she was gone down the dark hallway.

 

Karen lay awake in her bed, unable to sleep, staring at shadows. Being a super was nothing like she’d imagined, and though she’d been resolved to make it work, even her dogged determination had its limits. Maybe she was too weak for this business. Maybe only the tough guys could cut it. Maybe—with her tumultuous, easily-manipulated emotions—the fight against Heartless and Queen of Hearts would be more easily-won if Voyd just…removed herself entirely.

But she couldn’t give up. First of all, because this had been her only dream since she was a tiny little girl, and if she let it go, she had _nothing_ else. And because she couldn’t imagine how disappointed and angry her friends would be if she did. And because if Karen didn’t use her superpowers to help people, then what was the point of having them at all?

No. She pushed away all the doubt, shoved it screaming into the back recesses of her mind, even though it didn’t go quietly. She couldn’t just give up—that was a coward’s way out. No matter the pain and no matter the cost, Voyd would stick with this job. Even if it killed her.

But the doubt wouldn’t be go away. It couldn’t be pushed aside. It kept creeping into her mind despite her efforts to keep it at bay, infecting her like a virus, turning everything dark. Her future loomed in front of her, foreboding and scary, like a gigantic tombstone and—

Oh, this was her anxiety ruining everything. She turned over in bed, pushing her face into her hands and emitting a muffled yell. Her mind was torturing her, and if she wasn’t careful, her insecurities and her fear would combine into an unstoppable force, and she’d quit. She just knew she’d end up quitting the hero life, after all the work she’d done to attain it, after all the dreaming she’d done for twenty years. She’d just quit. And she’d never have that chance again.

Karen couldn’t quit being a super. But she couldn’t stay. She needed something to _force_ her to stick with this life. Without a push, she wasn’t sure she was even strong enough to keep going.

And suddenly, without much thought whatsoever, it came to her mind. She knew exactly what she needed to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't mention Doc Sunbright by name because damn if I'm going to integrate those wretched Boom Studios comics into my canon, but yeah, he does get mentioned. You're welcome, Boom Studios.
> 
> Thank you for continuing to read, and I hope you continue to enjoy as well. :)


	25. Murdering Karen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Voyd gives up her civilian life to become a full-time super, and grapples with her impulsive choice. Also, Voyd and He-Lectrix come up with a plan.

“I quit.”

The words were delivered through trembling lips, in a shaking but determined voice, as Karen stood before her boss, Jeanie. The middle-aged woman glanced up from her papers-strewn office desk, looking unconcerned. “No you don’t. It’s too early in the morning to quit. Go get your uniform on, and maybe we can talk about quitting at noon.”

“I’m _serious_ , Jeanie,” Karen said, as firmly as she could manage. “This is my notice to you. I’m not going to work here anymore.”

Jeanie finally seemed to take Karen seriously, looking up at her incredulously. “ _What_? Why the hell would you quit? I thought you liked it here. I thought you liked the dogs, the hours, the customers—”

“I do, really I do.” And Jeanie’s words were very nearly making Karen reconsider, but she managed to stick staunchly to her plan. “But I’m just _done_ , Jeanie. I’ve got to move on. I’m at a point in my life—”

The vulture-like Jeanie was disinterested again, turning back to her papers. “Save it, kid. Okay, you’re quitting. Glad you told me before it was too late to call Lee in for overtime. Hang your apron up before you go. See you in another life.”

Karen felt like an idiot, like she should throw herself down on her knees and beg for Jeanie’s forgiveness or claim she’d just been joking. She did neither. “Okay. Bye, Jeanie.”

And she left.

 

“You did _what_?”

It was before noon on a weekday, and the other Soaring Six weren’t present at the SJP for a simple reason—they, unlike Voyd now (gulp), had jobs. Except for Reflux, who had bingo at the local seniors’ centre.

Consequently, the only person to whom Voyd could spill her secret was Artie Fishel, who had been poring over the sunlight machine’s blueprints in the SJP’s common room when Voyd arrived. She’d blurted her secret the second she saw him—“ _IquitmyjobIwannabeafulltimehero!_ ”—and the young inventor now gazed at her with a blend of worry and respect.

“Yeah,” she admitted, sinking onto a couch with hands folded in her lap. “Just now. Won’t be going back there. Yay me.”

“But…” Artie cautiously warned her, “you do know the government hasn’t agreed to employ supers full-time? I mean, at this point it’s still just a pipe dream. So how will you subsist?”

She twisted her hands in her lap. “I was thinking, well… do you remember Universal Man? The super?”

Artie frowned. “Yeah, I think I do. Matter manipulation powers?”

“Yeah, but that’s not important. He had no secret identity, Artie. No civilian name, no regular life, no career—he just helped people. All the time. And _he_ was fine! So why couldn’t I be fine?”

“How exactly did Universal Man survive, though? Like, we both know you need money to _eat_ , right?”

“I think he survived on donations from his fans or something. I don’t exactly remember.” Voyd swallowed and nervously giggled. “I don’t really _have_ enough fans to keep me afloat, do I?”

“Well, I do know one thing: if this is what you really want, Mr. Deavor won’t let you starve. But Voyd… why are you doing this? Why _now_?”

“I know it’s stupid,” Voyd admitted quietly, staring at the ground. “It’s stupid and it’s bad timing and… everything. But I feel myself slipping away from everything I’ve ever wanted. I just wanted to—I dunno, renew my commitment. And this was the best way I could think up, to help me stick to it.”

Artie was silent a moment, considering. “Well,” he finally said awkwardly, “I gotta admit, I’m not the best guy to get advice from. I’ve barely got my own life together, to be honest. But if you want my advice…” He hesitated. “Do what feels right. That’s all I can say.”

Though this wasn’t very helpful, Voyd was grateful that Artie was at least _trying_ to understand her choice. “Thanks. That means a lot. Really, it does. I’m sorry to dump all this stuff on you.”

“Hey, it’s no problem—I’m happy to listen.”

Voyd excused herself and went to one of the bedrooms. There, she sat on the firm mattress, staring at the opposite wall, the slightly-open gap of a folding closet. If things went the way she intended, she’d return to her apartment soon and empty it out, moving her stuff over here. This would be her home. All vestiges of her civilian life, gone. Willingly thrown away.

She was murdering Karen.

Suddenly overtaken by the sheer stupidity of what she’d done, Voyd loudly groaned and covered her face with her hands. Oh, god. She’d barely given the choice two seconds of consideration before diving headfirst… only the pool was empty and she’d struck concrete.

It wasn’t like she was leaving much behind. Karen wasn’t really that great of an identity. She had few friends who’d miss her, and few who _she’d_ miss. She didn’t have any family to consider. Her job had been okay, but not anything to mourn over. Her coworkers would quickly move on; Jeanie would find a replacement within days. There was Daisy, but… well, Voyd had to be honest with herself: Daisy probably barely knew who Karen was.

In truth, Karen was pretty much the perfect candidate to drop off the face of the earth, unchaining Voyd and leaving her free to pursue hero work. And anyhow, Artie was right. Voyd’s qualms about accepting handouts aside, Winston would fund her transition to full-time superhero life in a second, and she’d reluctantly put her doubts away and accept the offer. Everything would be okay. Probably.

So why did it feel like she’d just made the biggest screwup of her life?

 

Hours later, the other Soaring Six had come to the SJP, and Voyd was sitting among them in the common room, showing off an awkward grin—a nervous tic of hers—as she explained what she’d done.

There was silence for a few moments after Voyd finished. Finally, Krushauer said, “It’s your life to throw away.”

“Voyd,” Brick burst out, looking highly concerned, “I think you must think about this more. It is not right choice.”

“Yeah, I’m inclined to agree,” commented He-Lectrix. “Emotions are running high right now. It’s not the best time to be making major life decisions like this. And, Voyd… Krushauer is right. This is your life. Your entire life. And you’re throwing it away.”

“Not my entire life!” she argued. “Just my civilian life. Being a super, it’s everything I am. To be honest, my regular life was just…” She struggled to find the words. “…a placeholder. A super is all I’ve ever wanted to be.”

“That’s not healthy,” Krushauer said frankly. “We all need a civilian life. It balances us.”

“I don’t agree!” exclaimed Voyd. “I’ve always wanted to just, y’know… be a super. And nothing else. And then I realized, I’m the only one who can give myself that chance.”

Reflux cleared his throat. “Er, Voyd, I think it’s great what you’re doin’. Really, I do,” said the old super. “Real brave of you. But I gotta ask… how are you going to survive without a job?”

This was the million-dollar question—and the one for which Voyd had no good answer. Other than ‘mooch off of Winston Deavor,’ of course. Unfortunately, that was all she had.

“Um,” she quavered, “I guess I just thought Winston would help me. Y’know, _just_ until supers are made employees of the government. Not forever. Just for now.”

She didn’t know how her friends would react to that. Contempt? She wouldn’t blame them. Voyd had spent the entire time she’d known Winston Deavor trying her best to avoid his charity as much as she could, because accepting handouts made her feel crummy, and now she was going to _live_ off of the billionaire’s generosity? It was quite the turnaround, and Voyd herself didn’t feel right about it.

To their credit, the others didn’t offer contempt. “That sounds like a reasonable solution,” mused Screech.

He-Lectrix smiled knowingly as he said, “And we all know Winston would never say no.”

“In the short term, certainly, that will work. But what if supers are _never_ employed by the government?” Krushauer asked pointedly.

“Um. I haven’t planned that far ahead,” Voyd admitted.

“It sounds like you haven’t done much planning at all.” That was fair enough, though she winced to hear it. But what Krushauer said next surprised her. “Giving up your life is certainly foolish; I don’t think anyone can deny that. But it’s brave,” opined the blue-suited superhero. “And frankly, I believe you’re only doing what every single one of us _wishes_ we could to do. Bravo on that count.”

She hadn’t expected any praise from him—or from any of her friends, honestly—and it made her feel a little better to hear it. “Thanks, Krushauer.”

He-Lectrix spoke again. “Voyd. Look, honestly, I’m not trying to boss you around. Your life is your life. I just think you’re being hasty about this decision. Are you sure you don’t want to rethink it?”

Of course she did.

“No,” she said with a firmness she absolutely didn’t feel. “I really, honestly feel like the only way to fully commit to heroics is just by… _being a hero_. Full-time. No distractions.”

He-Lectrix opened his mouth, but Voyd never found out what he planned to say. The door to the SJP opened, and Rick Dicker entered, wearing an impeccable suit as always, briefcase handle clutched in one hand. Voyd unconsciously tried to make herself smaller, hunching over and tucking her arms in—something she tended to do when she came across someone she didn’t want to confront. Voyd definitely didn’t feel like explaining her choice to Rick and hearing the blunt, no-nonsense agent list all the ways her decision could screw her. There was nothing she felt _less_ like doing.

 “I’ve got news,” said the agent shortly as he headed into the room, wasting no time on hellos.

“Fantastic news that we’d all love to hear, I presume,” said He-Lectrix more dryly than the desert.

Rick didn’t respond, only sending a tired glance in the hero’s direction as he headed to the front of the room. Sitting his briefcase down on a nearby wooden table, Rick opened it and briefly fumbled inside, producing a folded piece of paper. It took Rick a few moments to unfold the paper to its full size and flip it around until it was in the right position, but Voyd quickly realized it was a map.

Rick Dicker held the map up to show the team; it obscured his face. On one half of the paper, the Arctic Circle was portrayed, with one small island encased in a thick red loop; on the other half, that island was magnified a hundred times, showing its topography.

“This is Meighen Island,” Rick informed the Soaring Six. “One of the Queen Elizabeth Islands of Canada. Uninhabited, barren, and surrounded by ice. Realistically, there should be no signs of human activity coming from this place. In the last few days, our NSA satellites have suggested otherwise. We’ve detected energy bursts and light formations emanating from Meighen Island, and we’re unsure of their origins.”

“So, you think a villain has set up shop there,” He-Lectrix guessed, leaning forward in interest.

“That’s one of our theories. An uninhabited Arctic island would make a perfect lair for an evildoer who doesn’t want to be bothered. We’ve seen this kind of thing before. In any case, this activity is unusual and suspicious, and we’ve confirmed that whoever’s on Meighen Island certainly doesn’t have Ottawa’s permission to be there. We’d like you heroes to head up and investigate, ASAP.”

Rick stopped speaking, apparently waiting for one of the Soaring Six to determinatedly utter, “We won’t let you down, Mr. Dicker,” like they tended to do whenever the senior NSA agent offered them missions.

There was silence. The Soaring Six just stared at him; Rick stared back. “Well, don’t fall all over yourselves to accept this mission,” grumbled the agent. “What’s got you tongue-tied?”

“Heartless is attacking _here_ , in New Urbem,” Voyd pointed out, incredulity growing in her voice at the idea that Rick would even _consider_ sending them to the Arctic at a time like this. “But you think it’s a good idea for us to go that far north? Rick, I’m sorry, I just don’t think—”

“It’s a terrible idea,” Krushauer interrupted. “Let’s not mince words. You’re only requesting this of us because if we are in the Arctic Circle, we can’t cause a public spectacle or do any property damage. This is about damage control—getting us as far out of the way as you can.”

“I am inclined to agree with Krushauer,” Screech commented, sounding displeased. “Mr. Dicker, with all due respect, and without questioning the legitimacy of your investigation into Meighen Island—because I am certain it _is_ legitimate—I do believe this ‘mission’ is a wild goose chase. If not, its timing would seem especially convenient on the NSA’s part, would you not agree?”

“You just wanna get rid of us,” said Reflux bitterly, crossing his arms hard. “Ungrateful chump.”

“Mr. Dicker,” Brick gently ventured, “I think we are better here. We do better work here. If you send us away, we do not fight villains so easily. No?”

Having allowed all the Soaring Six to speak, Rick regarded each of them in turn, and sighed. “You’re not wrong,” he said. “There _is_ unusual activity on Meighen Island—I didn’t lie about that. But it _would_ be more convenient for you guys to skip town for a couple days. With how everything’s going.”

“Speak plainly,” said Krushauer, eyes narrowed. “With how _what’s_ going?”

The agent sighed again, shaking his head. “Better just to show you. You fellas been watching the news lately?”

“Gosh, no,” Voyd said, picking at a fray in her costume in sudden nervousness. “I can just guess what’s going on there.” Super hatred: more of it, and stronger, and always-growing. _That_ was all they’d find on television.

Rick grunted and reached for the remote, resting on the same table as his briefcase. One click of his finger, and Michael Maple’s thin face filled the screen, scowling and bracketed by “Breaking News” banners.

“—can’t trust them. That’s just the bottom line,” the senator was saying. “Even if we _can_ put our faith in these superpowered beings that they won’t turn upon us, nonetheless, it has been _firmly_ established that we simply cannot trust them to avoid damage!” The camera pulled back slightly from Maple, who was dressed in a very sharp suit and counting off point with jabs of his fingers into his palm. “We can’t trust them to preserve our houses and public buildings, we can’t trust them to avoid killing people—even if accidentally, and we simply cannot trust them to adequately save civilian lives! And if we can’t trust them to save civilian lives, well—” Maple gave an exaggerated shrug, eyes wide. “What good are they?”

The words were like a sword in Voyd, painful and sharp—but not, as had been the case earlier, because she so staunchly believed they weren’t true. Now, the words hit her so hard because she half-believed they _were_ true. Unconsciously, one of her hands pressed against her chest.

“That’s not all,” Rick Dicker said glumly. “Keep watching.”

Footage of Maple walking in front of a courthouse, long coat blowing behind him in the wind, played as a female reporter’s solemn voice intoned, “Maple’s petition is gaining traction among the Senate. Republicans John Kornberg, Kevin Wright and Karen Nowak, as well as Democrats Kenneth MacLeod and Cynthia Brannon, have all publicly stated their support for the informal petition and added their signatures, with more sure to follow suit. We spoke briefly with Cynthia Brannon earlier in the day.”

The camera cut to a concerned, hesitant-looking woman with a blonde bob, wearing a smart blue suit. “I was an advocate for super re-legalization in the early days,” said Brannon, “but with the events that have occurred subsequent to legalization, I don’t think I can support super activity while purporting to have the best interests of the people of Connecticut at heart. Hero work is a danger, a liability, and I think we all need to accept that fact and work around it as best we can. That’s why I signed the petition.”

The news woman appeared on screen, holding a microphone to her mouth. “Now Barry, as I mentioned, the petition is informal and holds no legal water. But nonetheless, as it gains support among politicians and the public alike, I think this informal petition could prove to be a major game-changer in the coming weeks. Back to you, Barry.”

“Thank you, Angie. In other news—”

Rick clicked the TV off, plunging the room into silence.

Voyd’s picking at the fray in her costume had become more intense. “Um, Rick… what’s the petition?” she asked fearfully, unsure she wanted to know the answer.

“The petition calls for hero work’s immediate re-criminalization,” Rick explained. “And the resumption of the Superhero Relocation Program.”

“They want to force us underground again, in other words,” He-Lectrix said, an edge to his voice. “As if we didn’t know this would happen.”

Reflux was scowling. “We’ve come too far. The government won’t take this baloney movement seriously, after how far we’ve come. Right, Rick?”

Rick didn’t answer.

“ _Right?_ ” Reflux demanded, eyes bulging.

“I won’t lie to you,” rasped the agent with a shake of his head. “These are uncertain times. The public needed… well, an adjustment period to the idea of supers being free to roam the streets again. And during that adjustment period, ideally, everything would have gone as smoothly as possible, to ensure the public’s acceptance of supers. That didn’t happen. So to answer your question, I don’t know what will happen in the coming months. I can’t even guarantee heroes will remain legal.”

“Great. They want to legislate our existence again,” said He-Lectrix bitterly. “Awesome.”

“Our existence is already legislated,” Krushauer pointed out with a wry, tight smile. “It always will be. They will always fear our power. This will always be how it is.”

Voyd didn’t have the strength to argue with him, didn’t have the strength to be an optimist. He was probably right, anyhow. As much as she didn’t want to believe it.

“Fellas, I didn’t mean to get you down,” Rick Dicker said quietly. “Things are shaky right now, but that doesn’t necessarily mean dark times are ahead, so don’t get depressed. If you don’t want to take the Meighen Island mission, you’re free to reject it. However, given the current political climate, myself and the NSA do believe it would be best if you all laid low for a little while.”

The doors burst open, and everyone’s heads whipped around as Winston Deavor strode into the room, wearing a wide smile. The billionaire clapped his hands together eagerly. “Guys, you wanna be on TV again?”

Rick stared daggers at him. “That’s not the best idea right now.”

Winston was undeterred. “No, listen, listen! Chad Brentley’s opened up his schedule for you. He wants to do an uncensored, no-holds-barred, tell-all interview with you guys tonight. All six of you this time. They’ll show exclusive footage from the Mode incident and you guys can tell your tale. Sound good?”

As he saw the team’s tired and unimpressed faces, Winston didn’t wait for an answer. “I know you’re not feeling the greatest, but trust me—from a PR standpoint, this is a _good idea_. A godsend, actually. It’ll humanize you guys, show the public your struggles. What do you say?”

Rick spoke for them. “ _No_ , Winston. Period.”

“Come on, Rick, don’t be a spoilsport, I just want two hours of their t—”

“Don’t frame this as me being a spoilsport,” Rick interrupted, a hand jutting into the air. “There are multiple ways this could backfire, Winston, and you know it.”

“Yes,” Winston said, frowning. “It _could_ backfire. It could also be the best possible thing for their careers. Personally, I think the latter option is more likely at the moment.”

“We can’t take that chance. Things are too delicate.”

“But it’s _exactly_ when things are delicate that an intervention is most needed,” Winston insisted. “ _This_ is the intervention they need.”

“Winston, no. This is not an argument. They are not going on television.”

Winston stared at his former mentor, looking slightly hurt by Rick’s resistance. “All due respect—isn’t that _their_ choice, not yours?”

Brick’s halting, but firm, voice rang out through the room. “We do not go on television.”

Winston gave her a pleading look. “That’s your decision, of course, Brick, but I want to urge you to reconsider.”

“We do not reconsider,” said Brick clearly and staunchly. “No television.” She looked at Rick. “And no Arctic. Best thing now is focus on the villains we fight, and stop them. Not focus on ourselves. Focus on Heartless.”

“I totally agree,” chimed in Voyd; Brick had voiced exactly what she’d been thinking. “Winston, I’m sorry. I know you only want to help us, and we’re grateful, but… right now, I don’t think a single one of us wants to go on television. For _any_ reason. And Rick, we don’t wanna go to the Arctic, either. Maybe when all this mess is over, we can look into Meighen Island, but for now, the best thing is for us to stay here. To protect the people of New Urbem as best we can.”

The rest of the team nodded and grunted in agreement.

To Voyd’s relief, Rick didn’t look particularly fazed. “Thought you’d feel that way,” he said, shrugging. “Well, it was worth a shot. You were my first choice, but the Protectors in Phoenix are itching for a mission, so I’ll give them a ring.” Rick packed up the map and his briefcase, heading for the door. He was gone without another word.

Winston looked apologetic. “Well, I didn’t mean to bother you guys after you had such a rough few days. Guess I should’ve known you’d be in no state for an interview. I’ll just call Chad up and tell him thanks, but no thanks. No hard feelings?”

“Of course not,” Voyd told him, attempting a weak smile.

“Great. Anything else I can do to help?”

Voyd felt the rest of the team’s expectant eyes upon her, waiting for her to tell Winston about her unfortunate lack of employment. She opened her mouth—closed it. She couldn’t bring herself to do it, not right now. “No, actually, I think we’re okay,” she told the billionaire in as friendly a tone as she could muster.

“Perfect. Anything you need, give me a call.” With a parting smile, the billionaire headed out the doors, too.

When Winston was gone, Krushauer said, “Voyd, what were you thinking?”

“I know, I know, I should’ve told him. I just chickened out. I’ll tell him tomorrow. I swear I will.”

“Voyd, you know that the moment you inform Winston about your situation, he will fall all over himself to shower money upon you,” said Screech with one eyebrow raised. “So why the hesitation?”

“Oh, c’mon, Screech—you know why,” she said, frustrated and embarrassed. “I feel cruddy about asking for more handouts from him. Wouldn’t you?”

“I would indeed, but it seems to me that, at this moment, you have no choice,” Screech reminded her.

She exhaled, rubbing the back of her neck. “Yeah… I know. Just give me some time. I’ll tell him.”

 

An hour later, the others had gone to practice in the gym, leaving Voyd alone in the common room. She itched to return to her apartment, but she knew that going back there would inevitably mean packing her things, and she didn’t think she could handle that right now. She glanced around the common room, its various chairs and loveseats, the wide window on the wall overlooking New Urbem… _this_ was now her home.

Oh, well. With the amount of time she’d been spending here, it was already practically her second home, anyhow.

For the first time—instead of fear and apprehension—she felt a surprising rush of joy, of giddiness, about what she’d done. She was going to be a _super_ , and nothing else. This was all she’d wanted since she was a little kid. For a moment, Voyd allowed herself to shove aside doubts and insecurities, and simply relish the idea that she was living the life she’d always wanted, putting her dreams fully into action for the first time.

A slow, wide smile formed on her face, and in this brief moment, she was happy. She almost squealed about it.

And then the crummy thoughts came back. Oh, well. It wasn’t going to last forever.

But there were far greater terrors out there than Voyd’s petty personal issues. Images of Heartless invaded her mind, the crazed, manic, one-eyed villainess who would probably end up killing them all. Her lair’s location? Unknown. Her master plan? Unknown. Her next move? Unknown. All Voyd knew was that, beyond the fear and confusion and even gut-deep hatred she felt for the murderous criminal, there was compassion there, too. More than Voyd cared to measure. Not just for Julie, who Voyd was convinced was an innocent chafing under her evil mother’s control. But for Heartless, too. Heartless, _especially_.

Her thoughts flashed back to Mr. Incredible. The guilt and shame on the super’s face, as he admitted it was possible that he’d stood by and watched and laughed while this woman’s husband was stolen away by a killer’s gun. Mr. Incredible could deflect bullets easily—with his bulletproof suit, with his _body_ even. It would’ve taken one brief second of action from him—barely any effort—to save John Bowman’s life. Yet he did _nothing_. Neither did the others who were with him. Supers all, yet they just laughed.

Nothing that had been done to Noreen Bowman would ever excuse her actions, of course, but… well, Voyd had to admit, it wasn’t particularly hard to see things from Heartless’s point of view.

She needed help, desperately. Counseling. Hospitalization, even. What she _didn’t_ need was for the Soaring Six to swoop down and end her life.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Voyd hadn’t even noticed He-Lectrix enter the room. An even more impressive feat, when you remembered that the superhero was walking on crutches due to his sprained ankles. “Hi. I was just thinking about… well, you know.”

“Yeah, I know. Hard _not_ to think about them, isn’t it?”

“I just keep thinking—where will they strike next? And will we be too late? And even if we _aren’t_ too late, will people die anyway?”

With some effort, He-Lectrix sat down beside her, resting his crutches against the arm of the couch. “That’s the question, isn’t it.”

“And…” Voyd didn’t really want to bring up her misgivings about Heartless, but they were eating at her too badly to ignore. “I feel such… gosh, I don’t want to say _sympathy_ , because that would sound bad. But—”

“I think sympathy is the right word,” He-Lectrix said wryly. “Don’t worry. I get what you mean.”

“Yeah, I just—I don’t want to hurt her. Heartless, I mean. And not her daughter, either. Even though they’re attacking and killing people.” Voyd paused for a moment, struggling to put her feelings into words. “It’s like—when an animal gets its leg caught in a trap, y’know? The animal will go crazy and gnaw its own leg off. Heartless is that animal. Do we _blame_ the animal for gnawing its leg off? God, am I making any sense at all?”

“No, I get you. You’re struggling with the idea that the only way to stop them might be to kill them. I get that.” He looked towards the window thoughtfully. “I’ve been thinking, though.”

“Thinking about…?”

“Thinking that there might just be another way.”

Voyd blinked. “Another way?” she parroted.

“Just look at the way the two of them interact with each other. The mother and the daughter, I mean. Queen of Hearts never acts unless her mother orders her around, and she seems almost… _sad_ about having to obey her mother’s orders. You with me?”

“Yeah…”

 “Well, we should separate them. Capture Queen of Hearts, somehow. You get me? Because if we get them apart from each other, it’ll have two benefits.” He counted them off on his fingers. “A—I think we can easily convince Queen of Hearts that her mother is evil, and get her on _our_ side. B—without her daughter, Heartless’ll have gadgets and gizmos, sure, but other than that? Powerless. No super behind her. And we’ll be able to defeat her that much more easily.”

He sat back, reading the look on Voyd’s face. “I know, it’s probably stupid—”

“No. No, it’s not stupid.” Voyd’s inspired smile began to grow. “It’s not stupid at all. It’s brilliant. We should’ve thought of this weeks ago! I think you’re really, really on to something! All this time we’ve been just blindly fighting them without a game plan, but _this_? This could be what wins the war!”

“You really think it’s good?” He-Lectrix asked, looking oddly unconvinced. “I mean, it was just an idle thought.”

“No, for real, I think it’s great!” Her mind was suddenly running a million miles an hour, threads leading to new threads, plans forming and suddenly disappearing, as she considered the logistics of this plan. She abruptly stood up, heart battering against her chest as a glimmer of hope began sparking in her. “I’m gonna go get the others. They need to hear this, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're approaching the end of the fic, only a few more chapters left. I hope you continue to enjoy. :)


	26. Weapons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, three weapons are in play: a special gun, gifted to the Soaring Six by its designers, Evelyn Deavor and Artie; a frightening new device used by Heartless; and Queen of Hearts herself, valued as little more than a weapon by her mother.

Saturday. The day of Winston Deavor’s superhero extravaganza, expected to attract supers from all over the planet, as well as their supporters and various dignitaries. A festive event which would include decadent foods, fine live music provided by some of New Urbem’s most talented young musicians, and a chance for the superheroes of the world to relax, drink, unwind, and enjoy each other’s company.

But the Soaring Six hadn’t planned to attend the party that evening. The New Urbem area was under siege, and the last thing they needed to think about at this moment was enjoying themselves and having fun—a sad but necessary truth.

Instead, they were going to capture a killer.

Voyd sat behind a very bushy shrub, the sky a cloudless powdery blue above her, and the air crisp with the smell of spring. A pair of fancy DevTech binoculars were pressed to her eyes; they stripped away the leaves that blocked her vision, showing her the glowing heat-signatures of the people who were in the park beyond. Today was the grand opening of Helnwein Public Park—thus named for a generous Austrian donor, who had given over a million dollars to have an abandoned former industrial complex be torn down and replaced with six acres of greenspace, public trails and benches.

Right now, New Urbem’s deputy mayor—her name was Christine something; Voyd couldn’t remember—was standing before a crowd (who were seated on cheap fold-up chairs), wearing a sharp blazer and matching pencil skirt, and making a speech about the importance of green spaces in New Urbem. The crowd was large—probably around fifty people squirmed in the uncomfortable-looking folding metal chairs. But still, the crowd was sparser than it would’ve been, had the grand opening been held on its intended date—Sunday of the following week.

Instead, without much notice, the opening had been hastily moved up a week, at the behest of Winston Deavor. A few days prior, the billionaire had quietly slipped Deputy Mayor Christine Something a $500,000 cheque “to fund the _next_ greenspace,” his only request being that the grand opening took place that Saturday instead of a week later. Of course, despite not knowing why Winston would make such a demand, the deputy mayor had blubbered in shock for a few moments before agreeing wholeheartedly to his request.  

Voyd was part of a very small group of people who were privileged enough to know why Winston had bribed the mayor. The grand opening was a trap.

Of course, it was easier said than done to _trap_ Heartless and Queen of Hearts. The two of them seemed to attack at random—a shopping mall, an airport, Edna Mode’s home. But as far as the Soaring Six and the NSA knew, the supervillainesses did have some sort of vague pattern: they liked to target places where numerous innocent people would be present. Then, superheroes would be lured to the scene, and the villains could focus on their _real_ goal: to torment and attack the supers.

In that respect, the public park’s grand opening would make a tempting target, with its large crowd of innocent civilians. Not only that, but on this particular Saturday, it was the _only_ major event of any importance that was taking place—a rare event in a huge city like New Urbem. Of course, that was discounting Winston’s super gala that evening, but Voyd, the Soaring Six and the NSA all agreed that it was supremely unlikely Heartless would target _that_ event. It was one thing for Noreen and Julie to attack a team of six or seven, but dozens of supers would be present at the gala, and even someone as mad as Noreen probably wouldn’t risk going toe-to-toe with three dozen heroes at once.

Well, at least, Voyd _hoped_ so.

Her thoughts still flashed back to the sunlight machine, Evelyn Deavor’s disinterested proclamation: _If someone got hold of the device, they could make a few modifications and transform it into a large-scale WMD._ According to Dicker, the NSA had started doing some investigations, speaking to Saudi Arabian officials and trying to track down where the device had ended up after the Deavors sold it. So far, they hadn’t made much headway. After speaking to Evelyn again and learning that it would take hundreds of very specific and technical modifications over a period of several years to turn the sunlight machine into a weapon—something that was likely beyond Noreen Bowman’s capabilities—the NSA had developed the theory that Noreen had indeed acquired the device, but had likely found it useless and scrapped it.

Rick Dicker had advised the Soaring Six to put the machine out of their minds for now, but Voyd couldn’t do that. Her mind kept focusing on the subject, and even now, as she watched the grand opening and listened to Christine’s droning speech, she shook her head violently as though she could shake those anxious thoughts away.

“Hey, what’s eating ya?” The question came from Reflux, who was seated beside her with his own pair of binoculars. (The other Soaring Six were stationed around the park, observing as well.)

“Nothing,” she lied.

The elderly super grunted. “Hey, kid, I know fibs when I hear ’em. Remember what you said to me not that long ago? We’re a team. If there’s something up, you can tell me.”  

Voyd wished she could be more open with her friends, but she didn’t want to infect Reflux with her anxieties—not to mention the rest of the team, via their headsets—and she knew that if she shared her fears, they’d only grow stronger. “I’m just worried about this mission, that’s all. I mean, what if the bad guys don’t take the bait? What if they attack somewhere else while we’re waiting around here?”

The older super shrugged his thin shoulders. “Well, if that happened, I s’pose the NSA would tell us, and we’d just head over to wherever they were attacking. Like we would’ve done anyway. No biggie.”

“Yeah… you’re right,” she sighed, lowering the binoculars, as her arms were starting to ache from holding them up. “And hey, if they don’t take the bait, it’ll only have cost Winston five hundred thousand bucks, right?”

Reflux guffawed at her joke. “That’s true, ain’t it? But hey—I bet he makes that much in an hour.”

“He probably does,” Voyd giggled, though somewhat guiltily. She still hadn’t told Winston about her choice to quit her job, and though she’d been able to purchase some food for herself in the past few days, her last paycheck was quickly running dry. And though she’d spent the past few nights in the SJP, she hadn’t gotten her stuff from her apartment yet; she was procrastinating the heck out of that. It was only a matter of time before her landlord chucked her belongings into the street and rented her former home to someone else.

Winston Deavor’s voice sounded over their headsets. “Joking at my expense? How dare you! Nah, I’m just kidding,” he continued before Voyd could offer a guilty apology. “Don’t worry about the money. I was planning to donate to a public project in the city, anyhow. It’s the least I can do. It won’t go to waste either way.”

“Thanks, Winston. Where are you, anyhow?” Voyd inquired. “You’re not around here, are you?”

“Nope. I’m safe in my office, just looking over some paperwork. Don’t worry yourselves about me.”

Artie Fishel’s voice suddenly came bursting over the headsets too. “Hey, guys, quick question—which one of you ended up with the weapon?”

“Krushauer’s got it,” Voyd informed him. “Why?”

“Just curious. Wish we could’ve made more than one of ’em for you guys, but hey—you gave us, what, two days? I think we did pretty good.” His tone turned awed and reverent. “Christ, I got to work with Evelyn Deavor. That’s a gift all in itself.”

The Soaring Six had specifically asked Artie and Evelyn to design a device that would aid their plan to trap Queen of Hearts. The two inventors had collaborated day and night to create the special weapon—though, since she wasn’t allowed near technology, Evelyn’s role had been relegated to _verbal_ assistance. The weapon was a rough prototype, but it had been tested and was proven to work the way it should, which was good enough for now. The weapon worked “neurally,” according to Evelyn, affecting the pathways in its target’s brain in unprecedented ways. Used properly, the device would stun its victim, render them incapable of using superpowers, and leave them paralyzed for several minutes, if not an hour.

Though it was a collaborative effort, the weapon’s basic functions had been Evelyn Deavor’s idea. Which kind of chilled Voyd, but she tried not to think about it too much.

“I hope you are certain about this, Artie,” came Krushauer’s curt voice over their headsets; the super was observing the proceedings with Screech elsewhere in the park. “If this weapon doesn’t work…”

“I’m confident it will,” insisted Artie. “Honest. Wouldn’t have given it to you guys if I wasn’t. And it’s not just me—Evelyn’s confident about it, too.”

“What a comfort,” Krushauer said sarcastically.

Voyd held the binoculars up to her face again, their cool metal rings pressing to the skin around her eyes. They cast a glowing green pallor over her vision. Christine the deputy mayor was gesticulating to accent her dull speech, while in the crowd, several people seemed to be falling asleep. All were rendered in otherworldly swirls of green, blue, yellow, orange and red, denoting the heat of their bodies. Nothing was amiss, and there was no sign of Heartless or her daughter.

She dropped the binoculars yet again with a sigh. “Gosh, that’s a pretty long speech, huh?”

“The broad must’ve been blabbering for forty-five minutes,” mumbled Reflux. “I’ve half a mind to conk out, myself. During the great war, everyone made speeches all the time, y’know, Voyd. The generals made speeches, the sergeants made speeches, the grunts made speeches, the bigwigs made ’em and we listened to ’em on the radio… Everyone was making a damn speech. Got sick of ’em mighty quick. I remember one time, Churchill made this speech about—”

“I think it would be best, my dear Reflux, if we kept our conversation to a minimum at this moment, and focus solely on the mission,” Screech interrupted smoothly over their headsets. (Voyd was silently grateful.)

“Uh—hem. Of course.” Reflux piped down, looking a little embarrassed.

Voyd vividly recalled just days before, when Queen of Hearts attacked Reflux’s emotions at Edna’s house. She recalled Reflux’s words in that moment, when the elderly super had stubbornly sat down and muttered: _I’m no part of this team anyhow_. Reflux had barely spoken about that moment since, but Voyd suspected that Queen of Hearts had taken Reflux’s feelings of disconnect from his younger coworkers and amplified them. It was moments like these when Voyd worried it could happen again—not for no reason, either. She felt rotten for being _relieved_ that Reflux had shut up.

Sure, it wasn’t an opportune time, but shouldn’t she _want_ to hear his stories?  He was a member of this team, too, and Voyd forced herself to admit that sometimes, she—as well as the others—saw him only as a funny old mascot, or an amusing blabbermouth to be tolerated. That wasn’t right. He was an equal member of the Soaring Six, and despite his age, he deserved respect like all of them did.

“I’d love to hear about Churchill later, Reflux, if you’ve got the time,” she whispered kindly to her elderly companion, knowing it wasn’t much, but hoping it was enough. She didn’t want him to feel ignored and silenced.

“Oh, sure!” he replied, surprised but pleased. “I can tell you a hell of a lot about Churchill. Could talk about him for hours. But for now, I’ll shut up.”

“Shh,” He-Lectrix hissed through the headset sharply. “I think we’ve got company.”

A chill lanced through Voyd at the words, and she quickly raised her binoculars once again, scanning the area beyond the bush for any sign of an intruder. “What do you see?” she demanded.

He-Lectrix sounded doubtful when he spoke again. “Um, maybe it was just the wind, or a car passing by. Thought I heard something off.”

It was entirely possible he’d just heard a car rushing past—after all, the park was situated right next to a road. But Voyd had a gut feeling that this was something more. “Keep your eyes peeled, guys,” she cautioned the others.

Her colleague’s words had rattled her, and though it was a tranquil day—not a cloud in the sky, birds tweeting peacefully—Voyd’s heart was drumming double-time. She kept scanning, looking for signs of foul play, as Christine the deputy mayor’s voice continued droning on.

“…and so, we must continue to protect and maintain the green forest land within New Urbem for our children to enjoy, and their children, and their children after them, so that even a hundred years from now, our city will stay green and beautiful…”

Something caught Voyd’s eye, far up into the sky, to her right. Her gaze shot towards it.

“…and with the help of generous donors, we can continue…”

What was it? She squinted hard, pointed in its direction so that Reflux could see it, too. It seemed to be barreling towards them from high in the sky: a shiny, reflective object.

“…unused lands in the New Urbem area…”

Voyd thought she could hear the noise He-Lectrix had spoken of, now: a quiet rushing, steadily growing louder, like wind through a tunnel.

“…safe and healthy outdoor area for our kids to play…”

“I see it,” Krushauer said shortly.

“What the hell is it?” Reflux cried.

“We need to evacuate these people _now_ ,” Voyd cautioned, unable to snap her eyes away from that thing in the sky.

“No, you’ll tip her off. Let them come to us. Then we’ll evacuate,” Krushauer insisted.

“But people could die!” Voyd cried.

Krushauer sounded far more confident than Voyd felt. “No, they will not. We’ll ensure it this time.”

“…ensure that people will want to live in New Urbem for decades to come…” continued Christine monotonously.

The rushing noise had grown louder, and Voyd could now make out the object more clearly. No, there were _two_ objects, side by side. Two _people_. Two _women_.

“It’s them,” Voyd whispered into her headset, terror briefly paralyzing her. “It’s gotta be them…”

“But how?” He-Lectrix asked in uncertainty. “Did a plane drop them, or what?”

“Krushauer, with all due respect, I am not prepared to simply wait for these people to be murdered in cold blood,” Screech snapped tersely. “We must act now, before they land.”

“…continue to protect our precious green lands…” Christine spoke into the mic as people in the crowd continued to drift into sleep, unaware of the danger screaming toward them.

“Trust me. _Wait_ ,” Krushauer told the others in a hard voice.

The forms were becoming clearer and clearer in the sky, and it became apparent why they were glinting in the sun: instead of being protected by the red bubble they’d used last time around, this time, both women were clothed in shiny metal armor over their suits. They wore breastplates, arm and leg guards, metal shoes, and metallic helmets that conformed to their skulls; rather than looking like something an old-timey knight might wear, this particular armor looked futuristic and modern.

The armor didn’t disguise Heartless’s wide smile as she descended like a meteor.

“Christ, do they even have parachutes?” He-Lectrix demanded.

“They’re coming in _way_ too fast,” Voyd cried.

“I’m going to shoot the young one now.” This came from Krushauer.

“No, Krushauer, you can’t—Evelyn said the weapon can only take so many shots, and they’re moving too fast! You’ll miss!” Voyd warned him.

“The people—someone help the people.” Even Brick’s usually-calm voice carried a sense of urgency.

“No, wait for them to land, _then_ we’ll evacuate, like I said before,” snapped Krushauer.

Heartless and Queen of Hearts were plummeting feet-first towards the ground with no sign of slowing down—Voyd thought they must be less than a hundred feet away from the earth at this point, and if they landed at _this_ speed, they’d probably hurt or kill somebody in the crowd. Voyd lifted her hands, two seconds away from creating a portal underneath the evildoers that would teleport them safely to the ground, but before she could, Heartless and Queen of Hearts reached behind their backs in unison. Two pink parachutes—heart-shaped, of course—deployed from their backs, instantly slowing the villains’ descent.

Queen of Hearts lifted her own hands. Julie Bowman’s blonde hair whipped around her helmeted head, and twin beams of crimson energy shot from the teenager’s palms. From high in the air, the blasts shot like two laser beams toward the ground and the unsuspecting civilians.

Voyd couldn’t keep from acting any longer. Desperate, she stood up, no longer hidden by the bushes, and threw one portal, then another, within instants of each other. The first opened underneath the beams; the second sent them shooting harmlessly into the sky.

By now, the civilians had started to notice that something was wrong. They were frowning in bewilderment and casting worried glances over their shoulders, confused faces turning to terrified ones as they saw the villains descending toward them. Screams began to ring out, and even Christine turned her attention away from her speech, eyes turning to saucers as she beheld what was above her.

Queen of Hearts sent another blast as she continued to descend with her mother, and Voyd managed to deflect this one away from the crowd, too, with the help of two portals. The crowd was in chaos now, chairs overturning as they tripped over themselves to run away.

“Run, little mice!” Heartless yelled in glee; above the din, Voyd could barely hear her.

“It’s past time to show ourselves,” Krushauer commanded, and the rest followed his lead. Voyd and Reflux both leapt out from behind their shrub, revealing themselves. Around the park, the rest of the team did the same, jumping down from trees or stepping out from behind large rocks where they’d been hidden. As they did so, Heartless and her daughter landed safely on their feet, parachutes rustling to the ground behind them. Both women smacked a button on their chests, and the parachutes’ strings detached from their backs. 

Luckily, the crowd didn’t need the supers’ help to evacuate; all the civilians had made scarce on their own, leaving behind a tipped podium and scattered lawn chairs. Even as Queen of Hearts aimed a stray blast at a fleeing woman’s back, Voyd made short work of it with another portal.

“Well, well,” said Heartless loudly, hands on hips and smiling. “Looks like we don’t have to wait for the supers to show their pretty faces this time around. Do we, dear?”

Queen of Hearts, as usual, didn’t speak. She only stared, her gaze as intense as always. This time, her eyes were directed at Voyd, and Voyd almost shuddered; the teenager’s stare was like an electric shock, and Voyd couldn’t decipher what it meant.

She wondered if Julie would thank the Soaring Six for “saving” her from her mother.

All of the Soaring Six had prepared for the emotional spiraling that Queen of Hearts could cause. They’d spent a few hours, earlier this morning, deep in meditation—at Winston Deavor’s recommendation, and with the aid of an expert he’d hired. Voyd didn’t know if it would help, but she did know from experience that she _could_ resist Julie’s power, if she tried—and she knew the rest of her friends were strong-willed enough to do it, too.

The key was to keep emotions out of this fight, as best they could. _If_ they could.

Heartless spoke. “Before you begin attacking us, listen up for a moment, supers,” said the woman, casual as always. “It was quite the nice little trick, learning to resist my daughter’s power the last time we met.” Her grin widened, showing tombstone-like white teeth. “Don’t worry,” said Noreen Bowman. “It won’t happen again.”

Before Voyd could do much more than exchange a concerned glance with Reflux, Heartless had reached to her hip and produced a weapon of her own. It resembled a gun, but all silver, sleeker, like the kind of blaster you’d see in cheesy science fiction films about aliens. And Heartless’s finger was lightly brushing the trigger.

Across the park, Voyd saw that Krushauer was pulling his own weapon—the one provided by Evelyn—but he wasn’t quick enough. Queen of Hearts witnessed him aiming the weapon at her, and instantly reacted, shooting her energy beams toward him; he was unable to dodge in time and was stuck head-on, blasted back against a nearby tree, Evelyn and Artie’s weapon clattering out of his hand onto the ground.

At the same moment, Heartless had pointed her own weapon at Reflux. Voyd lifted her hands, preparing to deflect the weapon’s blast—her heart hammering, wondering what Heartless’s gun would do to them—but at the very last moment, Heartless turned just slightly and blasted at Voyd instead. Voyd couldn’t react in time; she just stared stupidly as a burst of almost-invisible energy—rather like a heat devil—shot towards her.

The blast hit her square in the chest. She was unmoved—it didn’t carry any force—but she _felt_ it, like a thousand tingles roving through her body. Creeping and crawling up into her brain.

Her head began to pound, then to ache, then to hurt like hell, until she was forced to double over, clutching her skull in her hands. She distantly heard Heartless laugh, saying in a sing-song voice, “So you prepared a special weapon for us, did you? We did the same. Great minds think alike! No matter, anyhow—you’ll never get the chance to use it.”

“Voyd!” Reflux cried in concern, but suddenly, even as Voyd was nearly screaming fighting off the agony of her pounding head, she heard him grunt in pain, too.

“What the hell is that thing?” He-Lectrix cried, as Voyd collapsed onto her knees with her head on fire. With half-open eyes, she just barely saw He-Lectrix—whose ankles hadn’t entirely healed, but who had been unwilling to stay out of the fray—send a burst of lightning toward Heartless and her daughter. The two leapt away in unison, just in time; the bolt passed harmlessly between them. He-Lectrix aimed another blast at Heartless alone this time, who barely managed to sideswipe it, before countering with a shot from her special weapon.

He-Lectrix was sent to his knees, clutching his head, just like Voyd and Reflux. Krushauer—who had just begun to recover from Queen of Hearts’ blast, shaking his head and sitting up—was targeted too, sent straight back down to the ground. The only ones left standing were Brick and Screech, but even as those remaining teammates began to attack the villains desperately, Voyd could no longer watch. Her mind wasn’t working the way it should. Not at all.

This feeling, this pain… it was akin to Queen of Hearts’ wave of emotions, but different. Queen of Hearts’ powers were purely psychological. This? This was physical. Voyd’s head was in utter agony, the worst migraine you can imagine times a thousand, and she felt as though it might explode. But the pain was accompanied by anger. No, _fury_. She was losing her thoughts, even as she fought to reclaim them. She was becoming an animal, losing her sanity, losing herself to savage rage.

She fought and fought hard, just as she’d done with Queen of Hearts’ powers, but it wasn’t enough. She began to scream, lashing out with her arms. The tide of agony ebbed and flowed, leaving her less animalistic in some moments, and more in others. She felt a great heat skirt against her leg, and scooted away on her knees, briefly coming back to herself again as she looked at Reflux, who was nearby. Consumed by his own pain, the old man had aimed a burst of lava at her. It had just barely missed.

“Reflux, no…” she grunted, but she was unable to muster more words.

Heartless’s laugh was maniacal, like something you’d hear on a Saturday morning cartoon. “Perfect,” cried the villainous woman. “Now end each other. As painfully, as violently as you please. Kill and be killed.”

Heartless wanted them to publicly kill each other. That seemed to be her overarching goal. Voyd would _not_ let that happen. But at the moment, she wasn’t totally sure she could help it.

With a scream of effort, she tried her best to push the pain to one side, to ignore the agony and battle against the forces that threatened to pull away her humanity. Voyd reached out a trembling hand.

A portal opened up underneath Heartless. The villain hadn’t been expecting this move, and she fell into its maw with an audible gasp. As she fell from around six feet in the air, not an insignificant drop, and thumped against the ground, the weapon was loosened from her hand, skipping along the grassy earth until it rested around a meter away from the villain.

Voyd groaned as yet another throbbing wave of pain overtook her head, but managed to hiss through clenched teeth, “Somebody get the gun!”

She heard nearby gurgling and felt another rush of lava, the heat inching closer. Heartless might just get her wish today.

“ _Aggghh!_ ” She couldn’t hold back a scream as the pain intensified even further, and—to her own terror—she felt a tingling in her clenched hands. _No, please, no…_

A repeat of the destruction of Edna Mode’s mansion might be impossible to avoid. Only this time, Voyd and her friends might be too maddened to do anything about it.

Through unfocused eyes that were rapidly fluttering open and shut, Voyd dimly noticed the winded Heartless struggling to her knees. Queen of Hearts approached her mother, arms extended in concern.

“Give me the gun,” the mother said shortly, and her daughter obliged, kicking the weapon towards her mother. Heartless grasped hold of it once again, lifting it and smiling. So Voyd’s action had been in vain—and by now, she was too out-of-it to aim another portal so precisely again.

The Soaring Six were in deep trouble.

But Voyd felt a flash of hope, even as she heard, in the distance, another of her friends screaming in pain. She couldn’t tell who; He-Lectrix or maybe Brick or Krushauer. But her own agony was starting to subside, the throbbing pain in her head growing less and less with every second, until she could concentrate again. So the effect wasn’t _permanent_ —thank heaven.

Hesitantly, she pushed herself onto her knees, then struggled to her feet, screaming to her friends, “Fight it, guys! It doesn’t last if you fight it!”

“Oh, for god’s sake.” Heartless sounded almost bored. “Wouldn’t it be easier to simply give in and kill one another, rather than fighting my power like a bunch of stupid monkeys? It’ll happen one way or another, eventually. No matter what.” She displayed all her teeth when she grinned. “And the news cycle will eat it up like the rabid vultures they are.”

She clicked her tongue, as though she were directing a dog. “Gem, strike her.”

Julie Bowman looked straight in Voyd’s eyes. Heartless’s gaze wasn’t on her daughter, and Voyd was shocked to see Julie mouth something at her. Voyd tried her best to make out what Julie was silently saying, but she couldn’t.

When Queen of Hearts lifted her hands, Voyd cringed and braced for the impact of wild emotions to join the pain that still ran rampant in her head.

They didn’t.

The emotions didn’t begin intensifying in Voyd’s chest; the wave didn’t crash down. Though Queen of Hearts was biting her lip and scowling in concentration, just as she’d done the previous times she had inflicted her powers upon Voyd… this time, nothing happened. Nothing at all.

It suddenly came to Voyd what Julie had mouthed. _No more._

 _No more?_ Voyd could only stare at the young villainess in shock. Was Julie… _faking_ the use of her powers?

Was Queen of Hearts on their side already?

Heartless glanced at her daughter in dissatisfaction as Voyd continued to stand upright, completely unaffected. “Darling, what’s this?”

“I don’t know,” Queen of Hearts responded, still pretending to concentrate. “I don’t know, Mom. Nothing’s happening. I don’t get it.”

Heartless took a step forward, brandishing the gun, face scrunching and reddening in genuine anger. “Have you supers invented a new trick to defend against my daughter? _Tell me_ , you stupid girl, or I’ll shoot you again.”

From the corner of her eye, Voyd saw a dark shape silently swoop down towards the villainesses from high above. To avoid giving Screech away, she didn’t look at him. “I guess _your_ tricks just don’t work as well as you thought,” she spat at the villainess.

She wanted to warn Screech not to hurt Queen of Hearts, but she couldn’t. Not without giving both him _and_ Julie away, in different ways.

Heartless’s grin wasn’t bored, this time: it was manic, accompanied by a horrible scowl, full of anger and malice. “If you’re going to lie to me, well, perhaps I’ll just give you another taste of this gun. A little pain never hurt any super. In fact, pain is _good_ for supers. It brings them back down to Earth, reminds them they’re still human, like the rest of us.” Noreen held the gun in front of her eye, aiming it directly at Voyd’s chest. “If you _are_ human, anyway.”

Before her pink-gloved finger could squeeze the silver gun’s trigger, Screech swooped down onto her from above, silent as a bat. His claws dug into her shoulders, and his sheer momentum immediately knocked Heartless to the ground, with Screech alighting on top of her back; the gun was once again knocked from her hand, and ended up a few feet away onto the grass. Voyd wasted no time, quickly aiming a small portal underneath the weapon. With residual pain still pounding in her skull, she worried she’d miss, but luckily, her aim was true. The gun fell out of another portal right next to her, and she caught it in her left hand, holding it tight.

The gun was still warm from Heartless holding it. That small detail buried its way into Voyd’s mind.

Screech, still sitting on the struggling Heartless’s back and pinning her down, opened his mouth and let loose. His signature wail sent a needle of agony into Voyd’s ears, and she winced hard, crying out as the screech’s pain mingled with the weapon’s. She couldn’t imagine how bad it was for Heartless, whose ears were so much nearer to Screech’s mouth. Evidently, it was pretty bad: the supervillainess screamed in torment and then went limp. Voyd suspected her eardrums might have been shattered.

Queen of Hearts, who was standing nearby her mother, clutched her ears and took a step back at the sound of Screech’s wail. She stared at her mother’s limp form on the ground; for a moment, she seemed entirely unsure of what to do next, awaiting instruction from Heartless, who didn’t seem in any condition to offer it.  

It seemed Brick had recovered somewhat from being struck by Heartless’s weapon, as Voyd could see her large form across the park, slowing rising to her feet. He-Lectrix was doing the same, and Krushauer couldn’t be far behind. Queen of Hearts turned around, eyes darting from one super to the other, face growing more panicked with each one she beheld.

As Voyd saw Krushauer struggling to get up, she called his name and lifted the gun in her hands. The super’s eyes locked on it. Instantly, the weapon let out high-pitched groaning noises as it crushed into a small, useless ball in Voyd’s hand, which she immediately dropped like a hot potato.

“Krushauer, Evelyn’s gun!” she yelled at him. Right away, the super began scanning the ground around him, turning in a circle—but evidently, he couldn’t find where the weapon had dropped.

Queen of Hearts’ eyes locked upon Voyd’s. It was an electric moment, and for an instant, the two were both entirely still.

“Give up, Julie,” Voyd told the teenager softly. “It’s not worth it.”

Julie Bowman hesitated, casting a glance toward her mother, who was groaning under Screech’s weight.

Voyd could see the cogs turning in Queen of Hearts’ mind. She lifted a placating hand. “Julie, no—”

But in that instant—though her eyes told a story of regret and sorrow—the young villainess apparently decided her allegiance was to her mother, and no one else. Two gloved hands jerked upwards, palms aimed toward Screech. The blast of red beams blew Screech away like a feather, and Heartless was freed. Queen of Hearts hurried to her mother’s side, aiming her hands with a suspicious glare at the superheroes around her.

“Julie, we want to _help_ you!” cried Voyd in desperation, but it wasn’t enough.

He-Lectrix aimed a blast of lightning at Queen of Hearts, but she ducked down to dodge it, and countered with a blast of her own, which the super, in turn, barely dodged. And when the teenager began to yell, Voyd realized that it was the first time she’d heard Queen of Hearts speak so loudly.

“Leave us alone,” cried the teenager, with her left arm holding her almost-limp mother up under the armpits. “Just let us go. Can’t you see she’s hurt?”

Voyd took a step forward. “We don’t want to hurt you,” she insisted, though she knew some members of her team would contest that fact. “We just want to help. Give up, and this can all end here. Nobody else has to get hurt.” A pleading tone crept into her voice, and she knew her face wore an expression of anguish as she remembered the people who’d perished at the mall, the cooks who’d lost their lives at Edna’s house. “No one else has to _die_ , Julie.”

Heartless was beginning to recover from Screech’s attack, groaning and shifting in her daughter’s arms. Her eyes opened and she regarded Voyd with pure hate.

“We’ve lost this battle, but the war is not over. Get us out of here,” she hissed, her eyes not leaving Voyd’s.

Once again, Queen of Hearts bowed to her mother’s demands. She got up, hauling Heartless along with her. Instantly, several supers prepared to attack—Krushauer, Voyd and He-Lectrix raising their hands to use their powers; Reflux creating a gulp of magma in his throat; Brick raising her fists; Screech assuming an offensive pose. But before anyone could do anything, Heartless reached a quick hand to her waist. Apparently, the villains had even more tricks up their sleeves.

With the speed of lightning, Heartless produced a grenade and threw it at the ground, where it burst, creating a thick puff of smoke that instantly reduced visibility to zero across the park. Through the smoke and her own coughing, Voyd saw lightning flash and magma glow in the darkness, but neither seemed to have hit their target.

Voyd felt like she’d hack her own lungs out; the smoke was invading her chest. She managed to cry, through bouts of coughing, “Where did they go? Did anyone see?”

“They went north!” came He-Lectrix’s responding cry, accompanied through his own coughing.

Voyd began to stumble in a direction she vaguely believed could be north, which she knew would lead her further into the greenspace park. She hoped she didn’t hit a tree, but thankfully, as she headed forward, the smoke began to clear, and her breathing—and sight—started getting easier. She became aware of her friends—some behind, some in front of her—heading through the park with her, pushing past shrubs and feet thumping quietly on the grass.

As the smoke thinned and dissipated, she realized He-Lectrix was right: Heartless and her daughter _had_ headed north. She saw them ahead, both running full-tilt; evidently, Heartless had recovered.

She reached out to create a void underneath them, but apparently, the women had realized this possibility. They were both running in an unpredictable serpentine pattern, sometimes veering to the left, sometimes to the right, and Voyd bit her lip hard as she pursued them, unable to aim properly. She had to admit, it was a pretty intelligent strategy. She might never catch them this way.

He-Lectrix had initially been running ahead of Voyd, but he slowed down, gasping with each step; she suspected his ankles were bothering him. “I can’t go on,” he said shortly as Voyd stopped beside him, staring at him with concern. “Here. Aim good.”

He pressed an object into her hands, and it took her a moment to realize what it was. It was the gun.

“Go! They’re getting away! _Go!_ ” the super snapped, and as he doubled over with hands on his knees, Voyd skipped back into a run, pursuing the supervillains. Not that far ahead, the greenspace gave way to a larger, denser forest, and Voyd well knew that if Heartless and her daughter escaped into that wood, it would be exceedingly difficult to find them again.

Voyd threw a portal ahead of her, running through it and emerging closer to the villains. She aimed a shot at the sprinting Queen of Hearts, but the teen’s wily maneuvering made it difficult to aim properly, and Voyd’s shot went wide. She aimed again, and again missed.

Growling in frustration, Voyd tossed yet another portal, emerging just behind Queen of Hearts. She didn’t want to get _too_ close—she knew the dangers if she did.

Evelyn and Artie had given express warning that the gun was a prototype, and firing it more than three times would likely result in its breakage. Voyd knew it was entirely possible that she only had one shot left.

A low-hanging branch from a tree smacked her in the face, and she stumbled sideways. Her finger brushed the trigger unintentionally, and a shot rang out. A sharp knife of desperation stabbed her; she realized she’d just likely wasted her last shot.

But as she collected herself and continued running, she suddenly slowed to a stop and stared down at the twitching body lying on the ground below her.

Her shot _hadn’t_ been wasted, after all.

Queen of Hearts lay there on the soft earth, and it was clear that Artie and Evelyn’s weapon had worked perfectly. She was near-paralyzed, movement reduced to an errant twitch of the leg or arm; her eyes stared up, seemingly unseeing. They had succeeded, but as Voyd gazed at the vulnerable teenager, she felt a pang of pain and regret.

Not too far away, Heartless had slowed to a stop and whirled around. She saw her daughter on the ground and Voyd there above her. For the briefest second, there was hesitation. Then, Noreen Bowman began to run again, quickly disappearing into the ever-denser trees.

Voyd’s friends rushed past her, engaging pursuit with Heartless. As for Voyd, she knelt beside Julie and kept watch over the villain, trying to understand why this didn’t feel like a victory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: if I ever get around to writing my planned sequel to this thing, the aforementioned Helnwein might just be the villain. ;)
> 
> The story is now in its last phase. Thank you for reading.


	27. Julie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Voyd questions Queen of Hearts and learns some valuable info.

The NSA didn’t know what properties Queen of Hearts’ super costume contained, and as such, she wasn’t allowed to wear it. Stripped of her suit and mask, the skinny teenager now wore baggy clothes, a blue striped shirt and pants—the kind of outfit you’d wear in an institution. And as far as Voyd knew, Julie Bowman was two steps away from being institutionalized, anyway.

The young woman was locked in a cold, uncomfortable concrete room, with only a plastic table and two metal chairs on either side. Julie sat in one, groggy, her head leaned into her hands, and one finger idly twisting a strand of blonde hair. Tears stained her face, and Voyd felt an intense sorrow on the young girl’s behalf. Or maybe that was just Julie’s emotional powers, working on their own to manipulate all around her.

If that was the case, it sure wasn’t working on Rick Dicker. As the Soaring Six and Rick stood beside a two-way mirror that showed the interrogation room where Julie sat, Voyd examined Dicker’s face: stone-cold, not a trace of pity. That didn’t necessarily mean he wasn’t sorry for the villainess, though. Rick was good at hiding all his emotions. Well, all except exasperation, that is.

“You couldn’t catch the mother?” Rick asked, not judgementally.

“She got away from us into the woods, and then she was just gone,” He-Lectrix admitted. “I don’t know how she moved so damn fast.”

“I don’t know how she could live with herself,” Voyd muttered. “Leaving her own daughter behind like that…”

Krushauer crossed his arms. “We’re lucky she did. If she’d offered more of a fight, things could have become messy.”

“So,” spoke up Brick, “our plan work. Now what?”

That was the question, and Voyd knew how she’d answer it. “Let me talk to her,” she appealed directly to Rick.

Rick shook his head. “Don’t think that’s the best idea, kid.”

“ _I_ think so. I’m the closest to her age here, right? That’s gotta count for something. I think she’ll listen to me.”

“Voyd, just hold off. Let more experienced agents take the lead here. You’ve done enough for one day.”

“ _Please_ , Rick?” She was close to stamping her feet like a child, but resisted the urge. “Just give me a few minutes.”

Rick stared at her, sizing her up. “And what would be your goal, Voyd?”

“To find out whatever info we can about Heartless’s plan,” Voyd said firmly, “and to get Julie to trust us and join our side. Wouldn’t that be the NSA’s goal too, if _they_ interrogated her?”

An eventuality, by the way, that Voyd did _not_ intend to allow to happen, as much as she could help it. She didn’t know how cruel the NSA would be towards Queen of Hearts, but she highly suspected they wouldn’t be very kind.

She couldn’t read Rick’s expression, but the senior agent said, “Okay, kid. You talk with her for a few minutes, see what you can do. Be careful in there.”

“I will, I promise.” With that, Voyd reached for the handle of the black door that led into the interrogation room. Swallowing with sudden nervousness, she pushed it. And in she went.

Queen of Hearts’ head jerked up at the sound of Voyd’s entrance, and the teenager leaned back in her chair, studying Voyd with wary eyes. Voyd went to the opposite chair and sat down.

“Hi, Julie,” she said gently.

The teen’s suspicion did not abate, and she didn’t respond.

Undeterred, Voyd continued. “This isn’t an interrogation.” (A flat lie, but one designed to make Julie feel more at ease.) “I just want to ask you a few questions, no pressure. I understand you’re feeling scared. You don’t have to answer any questions you don’t want to answer.”

That, too, was a lie. Any questions Julie didn’t answer for Voyd would likely be pried out of her during the subsequent NSA interrogation. But Voyd didn’t really want to think about that.

Julie shifted slightly in her chair, an uncomfortable tic. “I feel like that’s not true,” she said.

Too smart for her own good. “Yeah,” Voyd admitted, emitting a nervous giggle she wished she could take back. “It’s not true. I’ll be honest with you. It’s a good-cop, bad-cop thing. I’m the good cop. The bad cops are gonna come in later. If I can’t help it,” she added.

“Why would you want to _help_ it?”

“Well, because… because I don’t believe you deserve to be treated cruelly.”

Julie looked down, suddenly blinking away tears. “I deserve it. For what I’ve done, I deserve to rot in prison for the rest of my life.”

“Julie, I just don’t think that’s true.” Voyd leaned halfway across the table, pretty much unconsciously. “Your mom made you do everything you did.”

“I could have said no…” Julie whispered.

Voyd shook her head and struggled to articulate the concepts in her head. “Moms…are supposed to look after their daughters, teach them right from wrong, care for them. Your mom didn’t do any of that. She manipulated you. She put you in danger on purpose.”

“She _loves_ me. She’s the only one who does.”

Voyd regarded Julie with total sadness. “Did she tell you that?”

Julie didn’t answer the question. “She loves me,” she repeated stubbornly.

“Yeah… maybe, in her own way, that’s true. But she doesn’t love you like a mother is supposed to love her daughter. She loves you like… like a _thing_. Am I wrong?”

Julie was silent for so long that Voyd almost asked another question, but then the teen spoke. “Yeah. You’re right,” she said very quietly.

“I heard you were adopted,” Voyd gently probed. “What can you tell me about that?”

“That has nothing to do with anything,” snapped Julie, suddenly on the defense. “Adopted kids can be loved by their parents.”

“Yeah, I know that. That’s true. I’m just wondering about your past.”

Queen of Hearts quieted down, settling back into her chair and crossing her thin arms. “I don’t know who my parents were. Noreen found me when I was three. I had foster parents, and they didn’t know where I came from, either. They just knew I had these crazy powers and they couldn’t handle me anymore, so…” She shrugged. “They sold me.”

“They _sold_ you?” Voyd asked incredulously.

“Yeah. They put an advertisement in the paper and my mom saw it. She bought me from them and told everyone I was adopted, even forged the papers to prove it.” Julie gave a half-smile. “She told me she spent half a million dollars for me.”

Voyd was aghast. “Julie, that’s not… I mean, that’s not something to be proud of. _Buying_ a kid… _selling_ a kid…”

Julie didn’t respond.

Voyd suddenly came to a realization. “Julie, did your mom adopt you because you had superpowers?”

Queen of Hearts shrugged. “Yeah. I mean, that’s what she’s told me.”

“So she was raising a weapon, not a daughter.” The thought made Voyd sick. A daughter adopted and raised not out of love, but out of a sick, twisted plan for revenge. It was a wonder Julie wasn’t more screwed up.

“Look, it’s not like that.” Julie Bowman was once again defensive. “She looked after me, you know. It wasn’t some weird supervillain thing all the time. I mean… my mom… She isn’t totally right in the head. Anybody can see that. And, yeah, my childhood has been a little weird, but she cares about me. She sent me to a good school. She asked about my grades. She cared about my interests—swimming, chess. She came all to my swim meets and she paid for everything, and she cheered me on, hugged me when I won, and hugged me when I lost, too. She wasn’t some crazy, abusive, uncaring troll, if that’s what you think. She isn’t the most loving mom in the universe, yeah. But she’s my _mom_ , and I love her. She’s the only mom I know.”

Voyd had a hard time picturing this image of Heartless in her head—a caring mother, cheering at the side of a swimming pool. But she tried her best to understand Julie’s point of view. It was true: Heartless was the only mom she knew, and she probably didn’t have any comparisons to tell her what a _real_ mom should act like.

“Julie, I get all that. It’s good that your mom cares about you, but you have to understand our perspective, too. Your mom has manipulated you, a child, into helping her commit terrorist attacks. That’s not something a normal mom does. If your mom really loved you, she would have left you out of all this entirely. Don’t you agree?”

Julie said nothing, and Voyd saw tears forming at the corner of her eyes. Her heart ached for the girl.

She tried to be as gentle as possible when she said, “This is a serious situation. People have died, and your mother has made you responsible for that. That’s not something a mother should ever put on her daughter’s shoulders.”

Julie’s eyes snapped onto Voyd’s own. “What do you mean?”

“What?” Voyd was confused.

“What do you mean, people have died? Nobody’s died. We were very careful not to kill people.”

Voyd blinked. It seemed to her that it should be very, very obvious that Heartless’s whole goal, all along, was death. “Um, Julie, several civilians have died in your attacks. A few passed away at the mall, and there were more casualties at Edna Mode’s house.”

Julie’s mouth gaped wide open, and she seemed unable to respond. Finally, she choked out, “My mom always told me we’d never really kill anybody. It was all just for show. We were going after supers, not regular people…”

Voyd could see genuine devastation in the girl’s face, and she quickly realized that Julie had certainly not been aware of these deaths. She fumbled, unsure of how to react; Julie seemed on the verge of a breakdown. “Julie, it’s o—”

“Don’t tell me it’s okay,” Julie cried, tears starting to stream down her face. “It’s not okay. I was—I was always holding back. My mom didn’t know it, but every time I used my powers I tried my best to hold back, because I didn’t want anybody to get h-h-h-hurt…” With that, she broke down, burying her face in her hands and emitting muffled sobs.

Voyd knew very well what it felt like to be a monster.

The super pushed her chair back and went around the table, putting a hand on Julie’s shoulder as she heaved with sobs. “It’s okay,” she whispered, trying to be as comforting as she could. “I know you didn’t mean to do it. Any of it. I know you were working against her the whole time, in little ways. I noticed.”

Julie nodded, but didn’t speak, still quietly crying.

“I hope you don’t have to go to court or anything. But if you do, I’ll testify for you,” Voyd promised. “I’ll do my best to make sure you don’t get punished more than you deserve. I don’t know about anyone else, but I don’t think _any_ of this is your fault.”

“I’m sorry,” Queen of Hearts managed to speak through tears. “I’m really, really sorry.”

“I forgive you.” Voyd meant it.

She allowed Julie to cry for a few more minutes, feeling Rick Dicker’s impatience building up behind that two-way mirror. Finally, Voyd went and sat back down across the table from the villain. “Julie, I’m sorry, I know you’re hurting, but I need to ask you a few more questions. If you could just pull yourself together for a few more minutes…”

Julie sniffed loudly and raised her head from her lap; her face was red and blotchy. “Okay.”

Voyd suddenly felt the gargantuan weight of everything she needed to know, and she was unsure of where to start. She struggled for a moment before finally asking, “Um… your mother. Her past. What can you tell me about that, broadly? I mean, the reason why she hates heroes. Can you shed any light upon that? I know it’s because her husband died…”

The erstwhile villainess sniffled yet again. “My dad.”

Voyd frowned. “Your dad? But he would have died before you were born.”

“A few years, yeah. I never met him. But she always made me call him ‘Dad’ whenever we’d talk about him, and she’d call him ‘your dad’ too. His name was John. From everything she said about him, he sounded pretty nice. She talked about him, like, non-stop. It seemed like she really, really loved him.”

“And… what did she say about heroes?” Voyd knew that if Heartless talked non-stop about her husband, hateful talk about supers would definitely come hand-in-hand with that.

“A lot. She said a lot. She talked about _them_ even more than she talked about _him_. It was totally constant. She was kind of, like, a quiet type most of the time. We didn’t really have conversations. She would talk _at_ me, when she talked at all. She talked about Dad, and she talked about how much supers stink, and how much she despises them. She would talk in crazy detail about everything she would do to a superhero if she could get her hands on one…” Julie was staring off into the distance, seeing something Voyd couldn’t. “It was gross and I hated listening to it, but I didn’t want to hurt her feelings, so I listened.”

Imagining what tortures Heartless might concoct for a hypothetical super made Voyd want to cringe.

“And what about her master plan? Did she talk to— _at_ you about that, at all?”

Queen of Hearts shook her head slowly, and spoke reluctantly. “My mom—like I said, she’s not right in the head. She didn’t really have, like, a _coherent_ plan. It was just, kill supers. Or… no. She didn’t want to kill supers. Well, she did, but what she really wanted was for supers to kill _each other_. She thought I could make you guys do that. She thought it would be funny if she lured a bunch of superheroes to her crime scenes and then got them to go crazy and humiliate themselves and kill their own friends. That was what she wanted. That was her goal.”

The words made Voyd shudder to hear them, but still, she suspected Queen of Hearts was holding something back. “Is that the whole truth, Julie?” she pressed.

“Um… I mean…” It seemed as though Queen of Hearts was hesitant to lie, but had no desire to spit out the whole truth, either.

Voyd leaned forward, staring intently at the teen. “Julie, listen. Whatever your mom is planning, she could hurt a lot of people. You and I both know that. So why don’t you tell me, and we can avoid that? Because I think that’s what you and me both want.” Julie’s hand was resting on the table, and Voyd reached over and clasped it in her own. “Please.”

Queen of Hearts stared at Voyd with tears forming in her eyes once again. “Please… promise me you won’t kill her. _Please_ don’t kill her. She needs help.”

The words struck at Voyd’s heart. She knew it would be hard to keep such a promise, and felt dirty while she spoke the words, but spoke them anyway. “I swear I’ll do what I can to save her.”

Queen of Hearts hesitated yet another long, long moment before she opened her mouth again.

“My mom does have this big master plot. First, though, she wanted to kill as many supers as she could. But every time we tried to get supers to murder each other, you guys just wouldn’t. You all survived, every time. My mom was getting madder and madder about that.”

“The master plot?” Voyd pressed, trying to get back on track.

“Yeah. The master plan… I mean, now that I’ve been captured, she’ll probably do it right now. As soon as she can.”

A chill ran through Voyd’s whole body. “What is _it?_ ”

“She called it her endgame,” said Queen of Hearts softly. “She bought a big machine from this corrupt official from some overseas country—Saudi Arabia or somewhere. And she told me she messed around with the machine until it could kill a lot of people. She was going to set up the machine near where a lot of supers were gathering, and then set it off and kill them all. And then, she told me, she’d be satisfied.”

Voyd could only blink in horror. This was exactly what they had feared.

“She didn’t know exactly when she was going to do it,” Julie continued. “She didn’t have that, like, solidified yet. But now that I’ve been captured… I dunno. I just feel like she’ll get desperate and do it now, while she still has the chance. That’s my gut feeling. I might be wrong. I’ve been wrong before.”

“I don’t think you’re wrong,” Voyd managed to say. “I think you’re on the right track.”

“Stop her, okay?” the teen pleaded, her hand squeezing Voyd’s own. “I don’t want anybody else to get hurt. But don’t hurt _her_ , either. Like I said… my mom needs help. I just want her to heal, and if you kill her, she’ll never get the chance.”

Voyd said the only words she could: “I promise to try my best.”

 

When Voyd emerged from the interrogation room and quietly shut the door behind her, she saw Rick Dicker looking more panicked than she’d ever seen him. That is to say, his eyebrows had met in an expression of worry, and he was tapping a pen against the wall like a nervous tic. The Soaring Six each looked worried, too.

“We re-interviewed Evelyn Deavor about the device earlier today,” Rick said bluntly. “Asked her about the logistics of this plan. She says that the device is far more dangerous than just wiping out a few superheroes. It could potentially go haywire and destroy a whole city. Millions of innocents.”

Voyd sucked in a breath. “Then we’ve got to stop her, _now_.”

“I concur,” Screech spoke up, “but we’ve little information with which to act. For example, where is Heartless now, and where is the device she intends to use? And when shall she use it?”

“I’m thinking tonight,” He-Lectrix stated. “She won’t wait. She probably thinks she’s cornered, and she’ll want to act while she still can.”

“But what would she target tonight?” Reflux demanded.

The answer suddenly came to Voyd, seeming obvious. “Winston’s party…” she whispered to herself. With all the day’s events, she had nearly forgotten it was happening.

He-Lectrix turned to her. “What, Voyd?”

“Winston’s party! All the supers gathering together, it would make an awesome target for her. The conference center—we need to go there and warn them, _now_.”

“I thought it was agreed that she would not attack that party, because there would be too many supers present who could stop her,” pointed out Krushauer.

“Clearly we were wrong,” argued Voyd. “You heard what Julie said—her mom’s endgame is to target a gathering of supers. What’s more perfect than Winston’s party? If she’s gonna attack anything tonight, it’ll be that. We have to go there and stake it out, at _least_. We have to protect them.”

“I agree,” said Rick Dicker gravely. “Go, all of you. Search the area around the conference center for any signs of trouble, and keep searching until the party’s over. Far better safe than sorry. We don’t want a massive loss of life tonight. Or any other night, for that matter.”

With Rick’s command, the Soaring Six headed out the door to the observation room one after the other, with Voyd last. As she left, she snuck a last glance at the two-way mirror and the child behind it. Queen of Hearts was still sitting there, picking at her fingernails harshly; Voyd saw a smear of blood across the table. Every few seconds, her shoulders shook. The girl didn’t look like a threat, and honestly, Voyd didn’t know if she had ever really been one.


	28. Superhero Shindig

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Voyd and co. go to a party, not to enjoy the event, but to protect it from a potential threat...

Although Winston’s party was a _superhero_ party, and therefore every super present wore their masks, it was still nonetheless a party. “Casual” attire was recommended, which, for superheroes, meant no super costumes. Instead, the supers wore party outfits: resplendent in dresses, tuxedos, suits and ties, and so forth.

If Heartless was watching the event closely, the arrival of the Soaring Six in their super costumes would likely make her antsy and suspicious, as everyone else was wearing dressy clothes. So Rick advised the team that they should dress up instead. They would keep wearing their headsets, though—that was a necessity that couldn’t be avoided.

Voyd didn’t really _have_ any dressy clothes. Her nicest outfit was… well, her super suit, to be perfectly honest. So while the other Soaring Six returned to their apartments in New Urbem to fetch their fanciest outfits as fast as they could, Voyd went to the SJP, intending to unearth something she never thought would see the light of day again. Evelyn Deavor’s black tuxedo. Sharp suit, black pants, white shirt, tie. It had likely looked quite good on the inventor, but on Voyd, it had just looked ridiculous.

That day when they’d visited Edna—it had seemed so long ago now—Voyd had tossed that outfit into the back of a closet in her room at the SJP, forgetting about it. Now, it became a lifeline. Voyd rushed into the building, headed straight to the bedroom… but she never got to the closet. Instead, her eyes hit the bed, and she stopped stock-still.

Resting there was a suit, neatly folded, with a shiny pair of black dress shoes resting beside it. She frowned in surprise and went over to the bed, looking closer. It was clear this wasn’t Evelyn’s suit—it was a newer, nicer one. She picked up the handwritten paper note that lay on top of the tux.

_In case you change your mind about the party, I had this tailored to your measurements. Hope you like it! —W_

Wow, Winston was a _saint_. With gratefulness, Voyd immediately donned the tuxedo and the shoes, and stood in front of a full-length mirror in the hallway for the two seconds she could spare in her urgency. The tux looked half-decent, at the very least. In fact, if it weren’t for her anxiety and terror, Voyd might’ve spent a few more seconds staring in pride at how the outfit accentuated her slender frame, at how her shoulder-length turquoise hair contrasted against the black and white. (She didn’t look in the mirror with pride a whole lot. More often, she looked in the mirror with a shrug and a resigned “Oh well.”)

Voyd couldn’t tie a bow tie to save her life, and she didn’t have time to make an attempt anyhow, so she left that part out. She left her bedroom sans tie and headed out of the SJP, mounting her cycle and speeding down the hill at top speed. She still wore her dark blue super mask, of course; protecting her identity was a priority. There were times, though, when Voyd wondered if her true identity was an open secret. It was an obvious fact that not too many women in America had turquoise hair. This was an issue Winston had delicately brought up months ago, to which she had responded with an awkward shrug. She still needed to deal with that problem. It was Voyd’s forte: not dealing with problems.

The conference center was at the western edge of New Urbem, near the finance district. Voyd and her friends had made plans to meet outside the main doors once they were all appropriately dressed. Voyd was the first to arrive, roaring through the streets of New Urbem in anxiety-induced record time, and dismounting right outside the building’s front entrance. She parked her bike, turned it invisible, and stood for a minute waiting for her colleagues to arrive, twitching nervously and tapping her foot against the brick walkway. While she waited, Voyd took a look around the premises. It was dark—the sun had nearly set—and her surroundings were lit by streetlights. To her left, a huge parking lot filled with cars. To her right, a busy city street. Behind her, the conference center, a huge, square building with impressively grand front doors.

A few superheroes passed Voyd, all wearing formal attire along with their super masks. They smiled and nodded but otherwise paid her little attention, and she tried to smile back. She desperately wanted to warn them, but at the same time, since they didn’t even know whether there was a threat or not, it would be stupid to cause the entire party to panic and ruin everyone’s night.

Before long, a yellow taxi pulled into the parking lot, and a hulking form ducked low to escape through the relatively-small door. Voyd had only once or twice seen any of her friends outside of their super suits, and despite the fear and tension of the night, there was some novelty about seeing Brick in civilian clothes. The superheroine wore a pink, glittering dress that fell to her knees, elegant flat pink shoes, and pearls around her neck; she looked quite charming, though nervousness was clearly etched across her face.

“I feel like plucked chicken,” she said flatly as she approached Voyd.

“No, you look nice,” Voyd insisted weakly. She meant it, but it was hard to put a whole lot of conviction behind the words when there was so much else occupying her mind.

“I like looking nice,” said the accented super, “but not tonight. Tonight I want suit to protect. It is silly, we wear these clothes.”

“If Heartless is skulking around here and she saw us wearing our suits while everyone else is dressed to the nines, she’d be tipped off right away, and she’d probably run off before we could catch her,” Voyd reminded Brick.

The heroine nodded stoically. “It is true, but I still feel like plucked chicken.”

At that moment, He-Lectrix arrived, also emerging from a taxi that pulled into the parking lot. “I don’t know how you ladies get dressed so damn fast,” he complained as he walked towards them. The super wore a well-tailored suit; at first Voyd thought it was black, but soon realized it was a dark eggplant purple.

Krushauer and Reflux soon showed up, wearing black suits (Krushauer’s was dashing; Reflux’s was rather baggy and unbecoming, but as the elderly super admitted, he had not worn the outfit in twenty-five years). Screech was the last to arrive, showing up about twenty minutes after Voyd’s arrival; the super wore a burnt-orange suit with a ruffled white shirt underneath, and Voyd thought he was the most interestingly dressed of them all. Most notably, the suit was specially-made so that Screech would wear his wings underneath; they protruded from slits in the back.

“We make a good-looking group,” Krushauer said dryly as Screech joined the small circle they’d formed.

“You’re damn right we do,” said He-Lectrix. “It’s too bad all this crazy stuff happened. We would’ve killed at this party tonight.”

“Bad choice of words, sonny,” Reflux chided him.

He-Lectrix ducked his head, embarrassed. “Yeah. You’re right. I didn’t mean it.”

Voyd spoke up. “Okay, guys. What’s our first step?”

“Circle the perimeter?” offered Reflux.

“Look.” Brick pointed at something, and the Soaring Six followed her gaze. There was a man wearing a baseball hat despite the darkness, dark clothing, and a thick vest which said “NSA” in bright yellow letters, covertly heading around the edge of the building until he was out of sight. Voyd looked and saw more people in the same kinds of outfits, standing around or circling the building.

“I think the NSA has got that covered,” Voyd postulated. “But they might not be able to see everything. Screech…?”

“I am far ahead of you,” interrupted Screech smoothly. “I shall fly above and watch carefully for any signs of untoward behavior.”

“Great idea. Be careful,” Voyd cautioned.

“I am always careful, my friend.” With that, Screech took off into the air with a few graceful strokes of his wings, soaring high above within moments.

“Maybe one or two of us should help the NSA agents with searching the perimeter,” Voyd suggested.

Brick raised a hand. “I will go. I can protect them if needed.”

“I’ll go too,” stated Reflux.

“Then you guys go and help them. Krushauer, He-Lectrix, I think you guys should come inside and monitor the party with me,” Voyd said firmly as Reflux and Brick headed off. “Who knows? Maybe Heartless will try something inside the building.”

“Now you’re talking like a real leader,” He-Lectrix commented appreciatively.

Voyd wasn’t so sure. She offered a half-hearted, “Thanks. We’d better get inside.”

“Then let’s go.” Krushauer headed into the building first, and He-Lectrix and Voyd followed him.

They went past the lobby before entering the main hall of the conference center, a huge space which was currently filled with people. Most were supers; some were civilian superhero supporters, dignitaries and politicians. Voyd estimated there must have been more than two hundred people in attendance, though she wasn’t very good with numbers; all wore formal dress and their masks, protecting their identities. They laughed, drank champagne, and some even danced to the swinging jazz music provided by a small live band in the western corner of the hall.

Voyd, He-Lectrix and Krushauer each went their separate ways, weaving through the crowd to check for any sign of a disturbance. Voyd examined every face, making sure the person underneath wasn’t Heartless in disguise, but none resembled the villain, and there were no indicators of trouble in the room—everyone seemed to be having a good, relaxed time, and the atmosphere was entirely a convivial one.

No one suspected the danger that potentially awaited them.

There was a sudden red flash in the air, and Voyd instantly ducked as her guts rose into her throat and her heart raced into overdrive, but it was just a slightly-drunken super showing off his powers; there was a smattering of applause and laughter in the crowd. Voyd tried to calm herself, but she was so anxious, she felt like she was on the verge of a heart attack.

In the distance, through the crowd, she saw a familiar face with a circle of people around him, chuckling as he recounted a story. Voyd practically lunged past the bodies that blocked her way, racing to Winston Deavor’s side.

“Winston,” she hissed quietly as she grabbed his arm.

The billionaire was wearing a very expensive-looking dark emerald green suit and matching tie, and his face was slightly red from laughter. He turned his attention to her, smiling widely. “Voyd! I’m so glad to see you! I thought you guys weren’t coming. Have a drink!”

She didn’t want to alarm the people around him; the last thing the Soaring Six needed was for a panic to spread through the party. “Winston, I’m here on business. Can we talk in private?”

He saw her urgency and his smile faded. “Of course, right away. Um, excuse me, guys,” he said jovially to the supers with whom he’d been speaking. “I’ll be back in a moment. Don’t stop the party!” A few supers raised their champagne flutes and cheered in response.

They went to the side of the room, where Winston led Voyd through a door which led to a dim and empty hallway. The door shut slowly behind them, leaving them in darkness.

“Is something wrong?” Winston inquired.

“Yeah, um, I don’t want to alarm you or anything. It’s just that we have reason to believe that Heartless might target the party tonight.”

“What?” He sounded confused. “Well, Voyd, I don’t mean to diminish the urgency of this situation, but I’m honestly not too worried about that. There’s over a hundred supers here, powerful ones from all over the world. Even if there was a threat, it would be dealt with pretty quickly.”

“The sunlight machine. She might use it, Winston.”

Voyd’s words seemed to catch him off-guard; he was silent for a long moment. “The—the sunlight machine? _Tonight?_ ”

“Yeah.”

But Winston quickly returned to normal. “Even if she did, with the combined powers of all the supers here, we’d be able to destroy it long before it ever harmed anyone,” he reassured her. “I appreciate you warning me, though. I’ll tell security to be especially careful.”

Voyd didn’t share the billionaire’s optimism, but she wasn’t sure what else she could do. “Thanks for listening to me, Winston. I’m sorry to ruin your night like this.”

“Don’t worry, my night’s not ruined. It’s just getting started! Oh, Voyd, I wish you guys could’ve been here. You know, in a casual capacity. It’s such an honor to be in the presence of all these supers, to hear their stories. If you’re going to stay for a while and watch for trouble, I’d encourage you to just spend some time mingling, if you can. Trust me—you won’t regret it. Some of these people have some really inspiring stories to tell!”

Voyd didn’t doubt that, and some small part of her regretted the fact that she didn’t have the luxury of mingling with these superheroes. Every single one of them was awesome and awe-inspiring in their own way, and all of them would have unique perspectives on the treatment supers had received in these past difficult years. There were very few opportunities in the world that Voyd would’ve appreciated more than the chance to hang out with a crowd like this.

But she couldn’t; her anxiety, and compulsive need to be vigilant, denied her that chance. After parting ways with Winston, Voyd spent the next hour methodically combing back and forth through the crowd, scanning for any indications of a disturbance. Aside from a few false alarms, there was nothing, and eventually Dicker’s voice sounded on her headset, letting her know that the agents patrolling the outside of the building had seen no cause for alarm, either.

“You won’t recall them, will you, Rick?” she asked worriedly, pushing her headset closer to her mouth as some nearby partygoers eyed her confusedly. “I’d just feel better if they stuck around, at least ’til the party’s over.”

“Of course,” came Rick’s gruff response. “I’m not resting on my laurels yet, either. We have more cause to believe this villain _will_ attack than we have cause to believe she won’t.”

“Screech, you see anything yet?” asked He-Lectrix’s voice. Voyd knew her fellow super was on the other side of the room, scanning the party like she was. Krushauer was doing the same.

Screech had been providing sporadic updates over the past hour; his response now was the same. “There is nothing amiss. This cold wind is quite cruel. I do believe I will need to apply gobs of lotion tonight, or my skin will be exceptionally dry come tomorrow.”

“Hopefully, dry skin is all we’ll have to worry about tonight,” Voyd commented quietly. “Keep your eyes open, guys.”

An hour had soon passed since Voyd spoke with Winston, and the party continued with total normalcy. A few times, supers had tried to speak with Voyd, but she was too anxious and distracted to give them much attention; she knew she’d eventually come to regret that.  

Eventually, Voyd leaned against the wall at the side of the room, watching the party continue around her. The music had turned slow and moody, the lights had dimmed, and a few supers had paired up to dance together. She watched them twirl by, and tapped her foot, restless and agitated.

Rick’s voice suddenly interrupted her thoughts. “This might be nothing, fellas, but just be on the alert,” the agent stated. “We’ve started using thermal and other types of scanning, just to ensure there’s nothing off around the building. We’ve detected a few anomalies in the basement.”

“ _Anomalies?”_ Krushauer asked, suspicious. “Of what sort?”

“There’s something down there that shouldn’t be there. That’s the gist of it. Of course, it could be nothing—in fact, probably _is_ nothing. O’Neal, that’s my best agent, he’s of the opinion that the hotspots we’re seeing are just space heaters. He’s usually right, O’Neal is.”

“You want us to go down and check it out?” Voyd asked.

“My agents are already trying to get down there.”

“Trying?” she parroted.

“There’s a padlock on the only entrance. We’d prefer to get down there without breaking anything, so we’re looking for the key at the moment. If we can’t find it, we’ll break the lock.” Rick sighed heavily. “If it was up to me, we’d have broken the damn thing already, but we’ve got our orders from the bigwigs. Save money at every turn.”

“…and if you break the lock, you’ll have to pay for it.” There was a twinge of cynicism to Voyd’s voice; she couldn’t help that. “It’s all about money, right?”

“Always is,” Rick agreed, sounding no more pleased than Voyd did.

There was a sudden commotion on the other end, and Voyd’s hand flew up, pressing the headset closer to her ear. Her heart hammered into lightspeed. “What is it? What’s wrong?” She didn’t even know who she was asking—it could be any of her friends who were in trouble.

Dicker’s voice came into her ear again, sounding just about as frantic as she’d ever heard him get, which, for Rick, just meant he _didn’t_ sound like he was about to fall asleep.

The agent said, “First of all, don’t panic.”

That, in itself, was enough to get her panicking.

“Panic only makes it worse,” he continued. “Just listen and follow my instructions.”

“For god’s sake, man, tell us!” boomed Krushauer.

“I said _don’t_ panic,” snapped Dicker. “Just listen. Downtown, near the entertainment district, on Thirty-Fifth and Kennedy, in a parking lot. Go there now.”

Voyd was already rushing for the door, trying to be gentle as she pushed past partygoers, consumed by panic. “What’s wrong?” she hissed into her headset, ignoring the stares of the people she passed. “What’s in the parking lot?”

“Evelyn Deavor’s sunlight machine.”

Voyd almost fainted.

Dizzily, she heard He-Lectrix’s voice demanding, “ _What?_ ”

“People have been reporting it to the police for the past five minutes. No one saw Heartless setting it up; guess she was in and out like a lightning bolt. Cops don’t know what the hell it is, but as soon as we caught wind of it, we knew. I’m sending my agents over there immediately to clear the place out, get all civilians as far away as possible, but it’ll be up to you supers to dismantle the thing.”

“This must be her play,” Krushauer said bluntly; she could see him across the room, making his way through the party towards the doors. “Lure us to the machine, watch us as we try to stop it, and then laugh when it goes off and we’re killed, along with god-knows-how-many innocent people.”

Voyd came ever-so-slightly back to herself. “We _won’t_ be killed, and neither will anyone else,” she asserted, even though her voice wavered and her head still felt light. “We’ll stop it.”

Krushauer didn’t reply, and past her utter terror, Voyd felt a sudden surge of respect for him. He—along with, likely, all the others on her team—knew that it was totally possible they would die tonight. And yet, he wasn’t hesitating for a moment. None of them were. As Voyd all but ran outside, shoving the doors open and feeling a blast of cold night air against her skin, and mounted her cycle, she watched as all her friends joined her without hesitation—four of them piling into an NSA-provided car, while Screech flew overhead. Voyd followed the car on her cycle as they speed through the nighttime streets of New Urbem, and she marveled at the courageousness and selflessness of her friends. Not one of them hesitated. They were all ready to give up their lives for the people of this city.

This? This was what Michael Maple and his cronies and the news media didn’t want to see.

This was what being a super was about.

But Voyd was still scared out of her wits. Obviously, even though she was _willing_ to die, she sure as heck didn’t _want_ to die. And the possibility infected her mind, ever-present. The possibility that tons of innocent people would lose their lives, however, was far, far, _far_ worse.

An unexpected voice suddenly came through her headset, loud even against the wind that rushed past Voyd’s ears as she weaved through traffic. “Hear you need my assistance,” said the raspy woman.

“Evelyn?” Voyd demanded; this all felt so surreal.

“None other. Your little friend Dicker barged into my house and shoved a microphone in my hand. Says there’s some kind of incident that needs diffusing. The sunlight machine, huh?”

“You’ll help us get rid of it?” Voyd asked, raising her voice so she could be heard above the din.

“You want to bet I will. If that thing goes off the wrong way, I’ll be dead, too—and my little brother. Besides, it’s pretty hard to say no when I’ve got a government agent breathing down my neck.”

This was perhaps the one situation in history where the presence of Evelyn Deavor was a comfort to Voyd, rather than something to be terrified about. Evelyn knew her creation inside and out; without her, the Soaring Six would be like fumbling idiots, probably resorting to brute force to destroy the machine—which, in all likelihood, would set the device off, rather than stopping it. Evelyn would probably save all their lives tonight. Wasn’t that funny to think about?

Before long, the makeshift motorcade reached the parking lot in question. The lot was of moderate size, situated next to an apartment building in the downtown core, on the corner of two normally-busy roads which were now empty and devoid of traffic. Voyd knew that NSA agents were currently working to evacuate several blocks around the area, but she also knew that, in the worst-case scenario, this wouldn’t be enough. The sunlight machine could destroy the whole city.

The device loomed in the center of the parking lot. It was shiny silver metal, square-shaped, perhaps twenty feet high and five feet wide, and rested on a thin silver platform surrounded by small “spotlights” akin to the one Screech had discovered in Heartless’s lair; accordingly, one was missing. To Voyd, the thing looked like death incarnate. Its appearance was relatively benign, but she thought she’d never seen anything so menacing.

Near the top, two red lights flashed, blinking on and off every few moments.

As Voyd parked her cycle on the street and the others’ car parked too, Evelyn’s voice entered her ears. “Voyd, I’m seeing through your camera. Can you get me a better look?”

Obediently, Voyd approached the machine, her shoes clicking against the concrete ground. “What do the red lights mean?” she asked fearfully.

“That it’s active—switched on—but not in use. If the lights are green, it’s in use. In this case, if the lights turn green, get the hell out of there.”

“Can it be deployed remotely?” This question came from Screech, who had alighted beside Voyd.

“Yup, if she’s got the remote. Which I assume she has.”

The others were approaching from behind; Voyd heard their footprints against the ground. Brick halted beside Voyd, and when Voyd glanced at her, Brick looked very much like she wanted to start punching the machine. “So what do we do?”

“Voyd, can you portal into the machine?” Evelyn asked.

“Yeah, I can, but…” Voyd sized the device up; it wasn’t very large, or, at least, not as large as she’d expected. “Will I fit?”

“Yeah, you’ll fit. There’s space in there for a person. I need to see the inner workings.”

“Voyd, take my flashlight. I brought one just in case,” offered Reflux.

“That won’t be necessary,” Evelyn informed her. “There’s light in there.”

“Okay.” Voyd turned to her friends, a lump forming in her throat. “If the light turns green… you guys won’t have time to get out of here, anyway. So just blast the machine. Blast it with whatever you’ve got. Try your best to destroy it. Don’t worry about me. We have to worry about New Urbem first.”

She knew she might be sealing her death sentence with the words, but she said them anyway. Each of her teammates looked stricken but determined, and she knew they would all do their best to protect New Urbem, too.

With that, she steeled herself and faced the machine, lifting a hand. A portal, blue-rimmed and glowing, opened in its side, revealing a small, dark space within. Voyd approached it and stepped inside. When the portal closed, she was left in darkness.

“Just say the word ‘light,’” Evelyn instructed her. “It’s voice-activated.”

“Light,” Voyd said, her voice shaking. Instantly, a dim but helpful light began shining from above.

The space was very small, very enclosed, and Voyd instantly began to feel claustrophobic. Surrounding Voyd were jumbles of multicolored wires, dials, glowing indicators, and so forth.

“Hmm,” Evelyn said, and Voyd knew the inventor was thinking deeply. “Turn around, please.”

Voyd had never known Evelyn to say ‘please’ to anybody; this _must_ be a crisis. She obeyed, turning her body and angling herself so that Evelyn could see every inch of the machine’s insides.

“Hmm,” Evelyn repeated. “ _Hmmmmmmm_.”

Voyd tapped a foot, a nervous habit, and she was extremely nervous indeed. “What _hmm_? What do you see?”

Instead of responding, Evelyn simply said, “Hmm. Can you get me closer to those wires to your left? The green and red ones.”

“These?” Voyd pointed.

“No, a little further to the left.”

“Here?”

“Yeah, yeah. Show me. Get real close.”

Voyd obliged, practically pushing herself against the wall so that the suit-cam on her chest was right next to the wires.

Evelyn clicked her tongue. Voyd was practically exploding with terror and agitation, and she wanted to scream at the inventor to hurry things up, but she knew that if she lost Evelyn’s allegiance now, everyone in New Urbem might suffer for it.

Finally, Evelyn said, “Well. There’s no doubting it.”

“Doubting what?”

“This machine’s been to hell and back. _Jesus_ , this is a shoddy job. Someone’s taken my device apart and reassembled it so badly that it’ll probably never work again. Hell, this hack-job is so shitty I’m surprised the lights outside are even working. I had to take a closer look at those particular wires because they’re one of the most important components that allow the device to function, but they’re not in the right order.”

Voyd blinked rapidly, her brain refusing to compute the words. “So… what are you saying?”

“I’m saying,” Evelyn drawled, “that this machine is not functional. Much less capable of wiping out a city. New Urbem can sleep safely for another night.”

Voyd heard Brick audibly gasp over her headset, and Krushauer demanded, “So what you are saying is, this device is nothing more than a red herring. Do I have that correctly?”

“Without a doubt,” Evelyn Deavor replied. “Yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens!
> 
> Many thanks to bluewriter4u on tumblr for helping me figure out the details of this chapter (and the one that follows). Also, as always, thank you very much for continuing to read the story. As you can probably tell, it’s almost over, so hold on for another few chapters to see how it ends.


	29. Mercy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is it, fellas.

For a number of instants, the Soaring Six only stood there in the parking lot, staring at each other. Their reaction time was delayed as they processed the information Evelyn had given them.

Voyd had never been so scared in her life than in that moment.

Which was really saying something.

She heard Evelyn start to speak on their headsets, but her voice was quickly cut off by that of Rick Dicker, who had apparently grabbed whatever transmitting device they were using. “Get back to the conference center _now_ ,” his disembodied voice barked at them, authoritative as all hell. “Get your asses moving.”

Voyd knew that Rick was terrified. Just like her.

“Come on, guys!” she all but screamed at her friends. In moments, she had sprinted over to her cycle, mounting it and revving it and zooming off down the now-empty streets, which had been evacuated in vain. Normally she would have slowed down to wait for her friends, but this was not by any means a normal moment, and Voyd knew that every second counted.

There was only one explanation for a useless but dangerous-looking device to be planted by Heartless in the downtown core. To lure the Soaring Six and the NSA away from the conference center so that she could act freely there. Heartless, in her own way, was a genius. She had purchased a $500 million hunk of metal and used it for nothing more than a distraction.

And they’d fallen for it. Like idiots, in their panic, they’d _fallen_ for it, and—

 _Boom_.

The sound nearly made Voyd’s heart sputter into silence, and it took all her willpower to keep going on her cycle rather than screeching to a stop in terror. A deep, rumbling _boom_ , the sound of an enormous explosion not too far away. The conference center. Where else?

She saw no flames, no licks of fire in the sky, but that didn’t mean the explosion hadn’t been huge and deadly. Voyd went faster than she’d thought possible, even faster than she’d gone on the night of the attack on Edna’s house, using her portals to skip through the streets like a stone on water. And she couldn’t throw them fast enough.

She finally wheeled around a corner and skidded to a stop, beholding the sight before her. The conference center was a mess, and this time, it was clear that Julie Bowman’s powers hadn’t caused this damage. This was far too extensive, and the damage wasn’t of the right type—though Voyd wasn’t an expert, it seemed to her that this must have been the work of a bomb.

Fully one-half of the massive conference center had collapsed in on itself, blown nearly to bits; glass was smashed, bricks scattered, concrete ruined, material crushed. A massive plume of smoke still rose from that side of the building, and faintly, Voyd could hear the sounds of screams from within…

“She must have told nobody she was gonna do this,” Voyd whispered faintly, to herself, into her headset. “Not even her daughter.”

She didn’t know where to begin, not with a disaster of this size. Should she rescue people immediately? Should she try and find out whether there were more bombs, get rid of them? Should she hunt after Heartless? Should she wait for her friends?

“What happened, Voyd? What is it?” demanded Krushauer; the other Soaring Six were still far behind in their car, not having had the benefit of Voyd’s portals.

“Bombs… I think she set off some bombs. There are people inside. _Everyone’s_ still inside. Winston… all the supers, the dignitaries…”

“How the hell did she manage to plant bombs?” cried Reflux.

“The stuff they detected in the basement, remember, and she probably planted the rest when we were gone, just now,” Voyd responded weakly. And suddenly, a surge of terrified determination raged through her. “I’ve got to go save those people. As many as I can,” she declared.

With that, she was running toward the building, and god help anybody who tried to stop her.

She heard He-Lectrix plead, “Voyd, don’t go in there by yourself, wait for us!” But she ignored him, and if he honestly thought she’d obey that command, he didn’t know her by now.

Oddly enough, one half of the front doors was pristine and untouched, while the other half was caved in and broken. Voyd ignored the doors, instead throwing a portal into the side of the building, and stepping inside through the whole she’d created. She pushed through what remained of the lobby, stepping over rubble and rocks. The people were in the main auditorium; she could hear their screams. Another portal was necessary in the collapsed wall in front of her, because the doors from the lobby to the auditorium were not in shape to be used, and then Voyd was in the main hall. She thought, anyway.

Rick Dicker’s voice sounded in her ears. “What do you see?”

She understood why he’d asked it. Even though Rick could see through her suit cam, the auditorium had been plunged into total darkness. All electricity was gone, and she was sure the lights were smashed, anyway. What she _could_ see was disheartening. The room was a chaotic maze of black, blurry shapes—some moving, which were humans; some unmoving, which were giant pieces of metal and concrete which had collapsed from the roof or walls.

Surely somebody in this mess was dead. There was no avoiding that fact.

Voyd squinted against the darkness, as though that would help her vision. Shockingly enough, it didn’t. “I don’t really see anything,” she admitted to Rick before making her way forward into the black. She screamed out towards nobody in particular, “Does any super in here have light powers? Anyone?”

A sudden green light sent her surroundings into an eerie glow, and a moaning shape lying on the ground beside Voyd came into clearer view. The dress-wearing masked superhero was holding up her hands, producing an irregularly-shaped ball of emerald light. Her legs were bent at odd angles and her face was badly bruised; she seemed quite disoriented.

Voyd knelt beside the unknown super in concern. “Oh, nonono, not you. You’re in no shape to help anybody. I’m sure some other super around here can make some light for me.” She slid her arm under the super’s arms and hauled the groaning woman to her feet, creating a void in the wall and pushing the stumbling woman through it. “Out the door. Go. Fast.”

Though she was glad that super was safe, her absence caused the darkness problem to return in full force, and Voyd stumbled through the blackness, tripping over rubble. It didn’t stop her from helping, though. When she came across a body on the ground, or a group of blind supers staggering in the dark like her, she helped lead—or, in some cases, drag—people out of the building with the assistance of her portals. She didn’t know how many of the bodies were dead, but she dragged them outside just the same. And the whole time, Voyd was consumed with terror, with the constant realization that another set of bombs could go off at any moment, that Heartless had free reign to do whatever she pleased.

She heard Rick’s voice as she worked: “Voyd, don’t worry about the building. Don’t worry about damages tonight. I know that’s what Uncle Sam wants, but don’t listen. The insurance companies can take a hike. Save as many people as you can. That’s what matters.”

“I’m on it,” she vowed, and continued her work.

Some of the heroes’ powers, she knew, would be helpful tonight—and others’ would be totally useless. Although every hero could make a difference in the wider scheme of things, tonight, a super with psychic abilities or a super who could generate water in their hands would be no help at all. But to Voyd’s relief, there _were_ supers around whose powers were more helpful. As she continued to use her portals to evacuate as many survivors as she could from the dark rubble, she heard a loud crash, a great groaning and ripping sound that cut down to her bones. In the distance, she saw a slash of light and a few supers running through it, and she put two and two together, assuming that a telekinetic super had used their powers to rip a hole in the building’s side, allowing an escape hatch.

As for Voyd, she was grateful for this, but she could create her own holes. What mattered was the people trapped _under_ the rubble.

Other supers who hadn’t been injured were tending to the wounded just as Voyd was, carrying and shepherding people out. Voyd saw one large figure whose back was impossibly loaded with smaller bodies, and she felt an acute gratitude for people who were blessed with super strength.

She had no clue how long she worked before her friends finally arrived. It might have been less than five minutes, but it felt like an hour. She’d just shoved someone through a portal to the outside when she heard their voices behind her, having pushed their way into the building from some entrance or another; Brick had probably punched a hole in the wall. “Voyd, we’re here! Where are you?”

She turned and saw a glowing orange luminescence in the darkness: magma in Reflux’s throat. It wasn’t much of a light, but it was something. “I’m here! Here!”

They approached her, five dark figures crowding around her. She didn’t feel safe yet—god, not even close—but their presence definitely helped. If only a little.

“We need to help as many people as we can! Go!” she cried at them, and they all went their separate ways, helping as they could. By now, NSA agents had entered the building with flashlights blinking in the dark, and one joined Voyd as she picked through the rubble, searching for anyone who’d been missed. From underneath a pile of giant slabs of concrete, she heard faint moaning, and instantly produced a void in the gray material, reaching into the hole and grabbing the arm she found there. She pulled out a coughing, dazed woman, one of whose legs was very clearly broken. Others followed, too; there were clearly many trapped under the collapsed roof and wall, and not all of them had survived.

Obviously, Winston’s belief that the presence of all these supers would surely guard them from Heartless? Not true. In fact, Voyd didn’t even know if Winston was _alive_. She hadn’t seen him and she fervently hoped he’d already escaped, but chances were that he was under the rubble, too.

Suddenly, Voyd heard a boom so loud that she was briefly deafened, followed by a violent shaking of the earth. She was knocked onto her stomach, where she immediately curled into a ball despite being winded, trying to make herself as tiny as she could. She felt dust and pebbles knock against her head, and heard loud crashes and shaking as the building collapsed around her even more than it already had. More bombs.

When the dust settled, metaphorically and literally, the only remaining sounds were those of screams, moans, and distant sirens. Voyd got to her feet as quickly as she could. She couldn’t even rise to her full height, as a fallen piece of concrete had landed right above her head; it was only by some miracle that it hadn’t crushed her. It was clear that the building was in far worse shape than before.

“Is everyone okay?” she screamed into her headset, terrified that one of her friends had been hurt. To her immense relief, each of them sounded off, dazed but alive.

“The NSA can handle the evacuation process from here,” Krushauer stated; Voyd thought his German accent might have grown thicker from the stress. “We need to focus on finding Heartless and stopping her from doing that again. If she does, the foundations may crumble, and then no one inside will survive.”

Voyd knew Krushauer was correct, and though she was reluctant to tear herself away from trying to rescue the survivors, she knew that if Heartless set off another round of bombs, there might not _be_ any more survivors. “You’re right. We have to find her and stop her, _now_.”  

“But all these people…” Brick sounded helpless. “We must try and save them, too.”

“You’re right.” A wild idea formed in Voyd’s head, probably a very stupid idea, but an idea nonetheless. “Krushauer, you can help remove the debris and rescue people. Brick, you can too. The rest of you can help with that. You guys don’t need my help. You stay here and save as many as you can.” Her hands squeezed into fists, in fear or determination, one or the other. “I’ll go. I’ll find her and stop her.”

“But Voyd, you can’t go alone!” Brick cried in dismay, and Voyd quickly realized her friends would protest mightily against the idea of her facing Heartless alone. But it didn’t matter. As far as Voyd was concerned, she was the only one on the team who she trusted to take down Heartless without killing or hurting the villain. She loved her friends, but she also—despite everything that had happened, despite the violence all around her—didn’t trust them, and she want anybody else to get hurt, not even Noreen Bowman. Even if that could only happen at the expense of Voyd’s own injury.

Or death.

“No, I’m going,” she said firmly. “Stay here. Help people. Please.” With that, she threw a portal into a nearby section of wall and ran out into the beyond.

 

Outside was a mess. People were running around—supers, NSA agents, and regular police officers alike. Some of the injured were on stretchers, some simply lay on the ground. The area was cordoned off with yellow tape that stretched as far as the eye could see around the ruined building. Flashing red, blue and yellow lights denoted police cars and ambulances; the noise of sirens, and the groans of the injured, were everywhere. Voyd saw one superhero kneeling next to an injured man, with golden energy flowing from her hands into a gash on his knee, slowly knitting it shut. A hero with healing powers. That was exactly what was needed.

Voyd wasted no more time, breaking into a sprint and running around the edge of the huge building. As she continued past smoke and ruined ground that had been blown into a crater, she reached an area around the building which evidently hadn’t been blasted by bombs.

Voyd suddenly skidded to a stop, staring in horror. She wasn’t sure whether they were bombs, but she had her suspicions. The objects were piled against the side of the building, one flush against the other, in a neat row. They were green metal boxes, unmarked and unidentifiable, probably as large as cereal containers, as innocuous-looking as fuel containers or something equally benign—but she suspected they weren’t.

Voyd reached out her hands, cringing as she waffled between deciding to use her portal powers on the bombs or not. She decided against it within moments—if she did, there were so many things that could go wrong. These bombs, apparently, had failed to go off. But if they did… the building was already so weak, was already crumbling…

She resumed her sprint around the building, eyes shifting wildly from left to right as she searched in vain for any signs of Heartless.

She heard the villainess before she saw her. “Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn, damn, _damn!_ ” growled a faint, deranged voice, and Voyd heard a frenzied clicking noise. She rounded a corner of the building…

Heartless was perhaps fifteen feet away. She had not yet noticed Voyd. Her head was bent over something which her hands were clutching tightly; her matted brown hair provided a screen which blocked the object from view. The clicking noise continued.

“Damn!” screamed the woman, finally raising her head.

The object was a small, rounded cylinder of metal with a button on top.

It was a detonator.

Voyd was frozen, unable to move. She couldn’t do anything, not now, not while Heartless was holding that detonator, because if Voyd created a portal beneath Heartless and the world dropped from under the villain’s feet, she might press the button, and this time it might _work_ …

Heartless’s head jerked towards her. She didn’t wear her mask, and the scarred, sewn-shut remains of her eye socket were on full display for the first time. Voyd’s breath caught at the sight.

Piled beside and around Heartless—Voyd couldn’t believe she hadn’t noticed them moments ago—were more of the green containers.

There was a moment of electrified silence. Then: “How the fuck can I get you people to leave me alone?” the woman screeched in Voyd’s direction. Her suit was ripped and dirty, her hair in disarray, one of her gloves gone, and there were burn marks singeing her outfit in various places. Heartless looked a mess. She looked unhinged. “First you take my husband, now you take my daughter! Let me have my revenge and leave me alone!”

“I can’t do that,” said Voyd, surprised at the steadiness of her words. “You know I can’t.”

For a fleeting second, it seemed as though Heartless turned into a different woman. “I know,” she said, sounding exhausted, her back slumping. “Not after everything…”

“But _you_ can. You can end this right now. No one else has to get hurt today. So how about you just let go of that detonator, put it nice and slow on the ground, and then we can talk? Your daughter is safe and well looked-after, and I promise not to hurt you, either. I swear on my life.”

The ferocity returned to Noreen Bowman’s remaining eye, and her mouth twisted into a hideous sneer. “What are your promises worth, you false bitch? None of you mean anything to me. You’re myths. All of you. And the world will be better off when you are destroyed.”

She pulled the gun from her belt faster than Voyd could react. For a moment, Voyd thought that it was a real gun and that she was about to die, but it was only a replica of the same maddening weapon Heartless had used earlier that day. That blast of clear energy hit Voyd square in the chest, and she was knocked to her knees. As she fought off the effects of the weapon, she was dimly aware of Heartless fleeing the scene, but since Voyd couldn’t use her portals to detain the villain—not while she was still holding that detonator—she couldn’t do anything about it.

It took her a few moments—precious time, time she couldn’t get back—to recover from the effects. Truth be told, when she finally got back to her feet and started to stumble after Heartless, she _hadn’t_ fully recovered, but that didn’t matter. All that mattered was saving the lives of everyone here tonight.

Voyd rounded another corner, and Heartless came into view again. This time, the villainess had knelt beside a series of the green boxes, and was tinkering with a red wire that ran between them, connecting each box to the one beside it. Voyd estimated there were around thirty of them. Thirty cereal boxes that could level this building.

Voyd heard Heartless utter a satisfied, “ _There_.” Evidently, the devices were now wired to her liking. Which was very, very, very bad news.

As soon as she heard Voyd’s footsteps, the villainess whipped to her feet and whirled around, staring at her adversary with total hate.

Keeping her voice gentle and her stance defensive, Voyd told a lie. “It’s no use. Everyone in the building’s been evacuated. You’ll only kill yourself.”

“And you,” said Heartless wildly. “Don’t forget you.”

Voyd shook her head. For some reason she couldn’t discern, tears were starting to bud in her eyes. “I can escape in time, if I need to. You’d be the only one that died.”

She wasn’t sure if she was getting through to Heartless—wasn’t sure if the criminal even cared about her own life—but she continued to plead. “Please, Noreen, put that down.” She was referring to the detonator, still clutched in the villain’s left hand. “I don’t want you to die.”

“No, you want me to rot in prison for the rest of my life, or perish _lawfully_ in an executioner’s chair!” the woman cried at her. “That’s what you want. Tell me how death is any worse. _Tell me!_ ”

But the fact that Noreen hadn’t pushed the button showed that she was beginning to have second thoughts. Or, at least, Voyd hoped so. “I don’t think death is worse,” she said softly, taking a step closer to Noreen. “But at least if you live, you can see your daughter again. You can watch her grow.”

“Don’t lie to me, bitch, I know she’ll rot in prison just like me!”

“Not if I can help it,” Voyd swore, daring to take another step.  

But whatever brief headway she had managed to establish with Noreen was slipping away. Noreen’s hands were starting to twitch, and her head was rapidly shaking back and forth. “Your promises are worth nothing. _You_ are worth nothing.”

Voyd heard He-Lectrix’s voice on her headset: “Voyd, for Christ’s sake, be careful. Jesus, you better get out of there.”

She silently refused, continued to listen to Noreen’s words, delivered by a trembling voice. “I wanted to watch you supers humiliate and kill each other, I wanted you to suffer and die at each other’s hands, I wanted to watch the news make mock you, call you untrustworthy, cause you even more pain. I wanted to watch the public start to hate you, turn against you, distrust you. I wanted to watch as the men in Washington made you illegal again, so that you all could never show your bastard faces. I was _wrong_. I was too subtle. I should have just killed you myself.”

She lifted her hand, thumb poised above detonator.

“Like this.”

Time turned to molasses, and Voyd knew deeply, in every cell of her body, that she had a choice.

The bombs would go off. could take care of Noreen. They would end the nightmare, would grant the villain's wish. There would be no need for a trial, no need for the victims’ families to suffer through those torturous proceedings.

But there would be no _justice_.

Without even thinking about her own life, Voyd dove forward, throwing herself towards the villain; she slid along the ground like a football player scoring a touchdown.

Noreen Bowman’s finger brushed the detonator just as Voyd’s arms closed around her legs. A portal opened under them, and Voyd felt herself falling, just as a gargantuan blast blew out her eardrums and the sonic boom swallowed her whole—

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh no!
> 
> Three more chapters to go. Thank you very much for reading. :) And once again, thanks to bluewriter4u for helping me figure out just how TF I was going to end this thing.


	30. What Matters is Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of Heartless's defeat, and Voyd visits the Parr household.

“It’s over.”

But, even though every sign pointed to Brick’s words being right, Voyd couldn’t make herself believe it. The hulking superhero was trying to reassure Voyd as best she knew how, and Voyd was trying her hardest to accept it. And from every fact she knew, Brick was right. It _was_ over.

Noreen Bowman had been taken away in a police car, handcuffed and leg-cuffed (was there a word for that?), an hour before. Due to Voyd’s efforts, the villainess wouldn’t avoid trial by virtue of being dead; instead, she had suffered only a broken arm and a few minor burns, and her court case would likely last for years. Voyd had faired better: other than some singed hair on her head, she had suffered no injury.

Voyd had itched, and itched _desperately_ , to follow the police convoy that had carted Heartless off to prison. She’d felt the almost-undeniable urge to ensure that Heartless didn’t escape, and she’d only been stopped from getting on her cycle by the intervention of her friends. Internally, she knew it was silly. Heartless didn’t need more monitoring. The woman was about as broken as a person could be—Voyd would be forever haunted by the total emptiness in Noreen’s eyes while she was being handcuffed—and on top of that, the erstwhile villainess didn’t have any more technological tricks and traps to rely on. She was _done_.

In the past few hours the conference center had been totally evacuated, all bodies recovered and all trapped people rescued, and, despite everyone’s worries, the building had not yet totally collapsed—though it probably would in the future. It was sturdier than it looked. And so were the supers inside it. Despite Voyd’s worst fears, out of hundreds of attendees, only nine had been killed. That was still awful—and she would never forgive herself for allowing it to happen—but, still, it wasn’t the massacre she’d anticipated. That was some cause for relief.

Now, hours later, having done everything she could do, Voyd sat on the edge of an ambulance’s open back, her legs dangling toward the ground and a blanket draped around her back. All around her, scattered around the parking lot and the street surrounding the conference center, were ambulances, fire trucks and police cars, sitting with their lights flashing. Her friends were around her, some sitting on folding chairs that had been provided, some standing. They were all exhausted, and they all felt guilty. But still. It was over.

It was _over_.

“I know it’s over,” Voyd told Brick with a weak half-smile, trying to be strong for her friend.

“Then relax. You are tense. You look pale like death.”

“Heck, don’t we all?” Voyd gestured at their comrades. Every one of them looked like garbage, tuxedos torn and dresses ripped, faces scratched and elbows scraped. But they were alive. That counted for something.

“ _We all_ didn’t singlehandedly throw ourselves into an exploding bomb to rescue a serial killer,” He-Lectrix pointed out.

“It wasn’t all that dramatic,” Voyd muttered, looking down. “I had plenty of time.”

“That,” said Krushauer, “is a filthy lie.”

She nodded, rolling her eyes in acquiescence. It _was_ a lie. One half-second later, and she would have been literal toast.

Brick placed a huge hand on her shoulder. “Really, you need relax. You are not well. Remember, no one else is coming after you.”

“Hopefully, anyway!” exclaimed Reflux grumpily. “We’ve had more than enough excitement for one decade.”

Voyd couldn’t help agreeing with that. On top of all the other excitement tonight had brought, she’d also had to deal with Rick Dicker, having a heated shouting match with him over their headsets. It had happened half an hour ago, and she recalled it all too vividly.

“You are _not_ taking that girl to jail.”

“Listen, Voyd—”

“No. You listen to _me_.” She had been yelling into her headset at this point, and she suspected it was the first time any of her friends had seen her really righteously angry like this. She felt kind of embarrassed about that, but her fury far outweighed her embarrassment. “This is a _fifteen-year-old child_ , Rick. Don’t you have a soul somewhere in that suit?”

Rick Dicker at least had the courtesy to sound somewhat chagrined. Or maybe she was imagining it, maybe the headset was distorting his voice. “I’m sorry. I really am, kid. If it were up to me, she’d be going to a foster family or something equally therapeutic. Hell, if it were up to me, I’d let you adopt her. But in the eyes of a law, this is a killer. There has to be some sort of due process here. Maybe she’ll be exonerated, maybe the judge and jury will have mercy—in fact, I expect it. But right now, she has to be imprisoned. There’s no other fate for her. I’m sorry.” His tone, though regretful, clearly informed her that there was no further argument to be made on the subject.

Her anger melted into something more akin to desperation as she imagined Julie Bowman alone in a cold cell, surrounded by hardened criminals, with no family to visit her. “Please, Rick,” she pleaded. “There has to be something you can do. Anything…”

“To prevent Queen of Hearts from going to jail? No. Not a damn thing. My hands are tied tight. But trust me, things are not over for her. Since this is a superhero-villain matter, the NSA still has some leeway in these proceedings. I’ll campaign for her to be tried as a minor, and I’ll testify that I believe she deserves a light sentence. In short, I’ll do what I can. May not be enough, but I’ll do it anyway.”

“Thanks, Rick.” She purposefully stowed away her fury and indignation. It wasn’t Dicker’s fault. Hopefully, the system—to which Julie now belonged—could muster some humanity. “And what about Heartless?” she ventured on a whim, although she already knew the answer.

Rick made a small scoff. “What about her? She’ll get no leniency. She will likely face the death sentence, unless insanity can be proven. Either way, she’ll never get out of prison again.”

She’d expected that answer, but it still made her sad, and in the back of her mind, she wondered whether death would have been a kinder fate for Noreen. But Voyd knew she couldn’t have let that happen, not even if she had been totally convinced that death was a mercy. She was a super. She didn’t just abandon people to die. No matter what.

Voyd remembered her promise: that she would help Noreen see her daughter. Well, she hadn’t exactly _made_ that promise, more _implied_ it. Still, she wanted to try her best to live up to it. That, though, was a matter for another time.

Now, Voyd looked at her friends, worry lines etched into her face. She wanted to know if she had made the right choice. She needed validation.

“Do you guys think—?”

The question was interrupted, and Voyd was almost grateful it was, because she wasn’t sure she’d actually wanted to hear the answer. A hesitant cough cut into her words, and they all turned their heads to see Winston Deavor standing nearby. His nice suit was all but ruined, one sleeve torn off entirely, and he looked pale and shaken, but he was alive and unharmed. They’d been aware he had survived for some time, but they hadn’t seen him in the flesh yet, and seeing him alive was a huge weight off Voyd’s shoulders.

Some of her characteristic enthusiasm couldn’t help but rear its head, and she jumped from the ambulance and ran over, hugging him tight. He returned the hug less tightly, mildly pointing out, “Can’t breathe.”

She let him go guiltily. “Sorry. I’m just so glad you’re okay. We all thought you might’ve died.”

“Nope! Still kicking.” He flicked a fleck of dust off his surviving suit sleeve. “Guess that’ll teach me to gather a bunch of supers together. It seems every time I do that, somebody or other decides to crash the party.” Voyd saw unfathomable guilt appear in the billionaire’s eyes as he stared at the concrete under his feet. “Only last time, nobody died. This time…”

“It’s not your fault,” He-Lectrix spoke from behind them.

“I know it isn’t, but I can’t help but feel terrible,” he said quietly. The entrepreneur looked sort of like a lost child, and Voyd felt awful for him.

Trying to reassure him, she said, “We all feel awful. I think every one of us can share in this guilt. You’re not alone, Winston.”

The billionaire changed the subject abruptly. “Well, no point in feeling sorry for ourselves. I came over here to thank you.”

Voyd was puzzled. “Thank _me?_ For what?”

“Don’t you remember? You dragged me out of there. Like a sack of potatoes,” he chuckled without much mirth. “Probably saved my bacon.”

She had dragged a _lot_ of people out of the building, and it had all happened in the dark; she hadn’t even noticed one of them was Winston. “Oh. You’re welcome. Anytime,” she joked weakly.

“Speaking of bacon and potatoes, is anyone else famished? We’re all due to make police statements tomorrow morning at ten sharp, but tonight, we’re free to go. I can take you guys out for an early morning breakfast. My treat. You all deserve it.”

Underneath his obviously-fake layer of cheer, Voyd could sense Winston was devastated and probably didn’t want to be alone right now. She understood. She felt the same, and she needed something to distract her from the anxious pang in her chest—the pang that told her everything wouldn’t be all right. “I’d love to have something to eat. What about you guys?”

Her friends all mumbled vague agreements.

Half an hour later, they were all sitting in a round booth in the neon-lit Alice’s 24-Hour Diner on Ninth Street, wolfing down pancakes, bacon and eggs. The waitress had heard about that night’s incident on the radio, and as soon as she saw their superhero masks and singed outfits, she put two and two together. “On the house,” she said, and wouldn’t hear any arguments.

Well, it was nice to know _someone_ out there loved them, because the media sure didn’t. Not even after everything.

A radio was playing from somewhere, and after the dissonantly-sweet sounds of Elvis Presley had faded from hearing, the solemn voice of a reporter began recounting that night’s news. Voyd stopped eating and listened. So did everyone else; forks were lowered, mouths stopped chewing.

“…nine killed, though authorities assert it could have been much worse,” the grave reporter intoned. “All of the dead were superheroes, who have yet to be identified.”

The reporter prattled on for a few minutes, until finally saying something that made Voyd’s heart quicken and her stomach feel sick: “Senator Michael Maple, an outspoken opponent of supers and of the repealing of the Superhero Relocation Act, provided a quote minutes ago. We go to him now.”

The furious voice of Michael Maple seemed to fill the small diner, invading every space. “Here we go again, folks. Superheroes attract villains, and they attract damage, and they attract death. We know these facts and we know them well, so when will the government finally open its ears and listen to what Joe Public is telling it? The fifty-million-dollar Kropp Center—just built last year, I’ll remind you—is a total write-off. It will have to be demolished. That’s a fifty-million-dollar mistake, fifty million dollars out of the pockets of the taxpayer—and the supers weren’t able to stop that from happening. So what good are they? How many times will I have to ask this goddamn question before Uncle Sam finally wises up and does something about it?”

As the reporter began speaking again, Krushauer shook his head, scowling. With bitter sarcasm, he noted, “They will talk about the damage until kingdom come, but they will never mention how many lives we save.”

Voyd nodded sadly; she didn’t have the energy to fume over Maple’s words, not right now. “I agree, but…” She hesitated, trying to put her thoughts into coherent words. And she suddenly realized something. Her anxiety had faded. She was still a little worried, still sad and disappointed over what had happened tonight, but she no longer felt the buzz of anxiety telling her that something bad was still about to happen. Being with her friends, in this normal setting, was a balm. She was safe. Heartless was in jail.

It was over. And she could accept that. And maybe someday she would forgive herself for things that had never been in her control.

“I don’t think it matters what recognition we get. It only matters that we did what was right. And we did.” She gave her friends a hesitant, weary, but genuine smile. “We did, guys. We all did what was right tonight.”

“Absolutely right. Spot-on, Voyd.” Winston took another large bite of blueberry pancake.

He-Lectrix smiled wryly. “You seem back to your old optimistic self, huh?”

She smiled back, but she was already somewhere else, her eyes staring past him. “Not quite. There’s something I have to find out first.”

 

Her aquamarine hair puffing around in the wind, Karen drove her cycle down the highway towards Metroville; she wore regular civilian clothes, jeans and a blue crop top. It was midday, blue-skied and sunny, and she’d already spent the whole morning talking to the police. As she had for the past three days. They wanted to be as thorough as possible; they wanted know everything she could tell them, in order to build the most convincing case against Heartless that they could.

She had told them everything she knew, truthfully, although her heart wanted her to lie about Julie Bowman’s role. But she didn’t lie, as much as it hurt her. She told the truth, openly and honestly, but made sure to add her own opinion that Julie had been manipulated callously by her mother and didn’t deserve to have the book thrown at her.

Now, she drove down the road. Unlike she last time she’d headed down this highway, this time Karen obeyed the speed limit. She was in no hurry. And she was almost there.

As she reached her exit and drove into the suburbs, her cycle’s radio started playing the news, and Karen listened closely, breaking into a slow but wide smile as she heard what she’d been waiting for. “…Bill H-45 will no doubt be fought against by anti-super activists all over the country, but for now, the bill is law, having been passed by Congress only four hours ago. Even now, protests are gathering all over the country, marching against the bill that will allow certain supers to become official, full-time government employees. For now, Congress is sticking to its guns, and this unprecedented move will no doubt be…”

Karen wanted to keep listening, because even though the protests hurt her, this news was still sweeter than honey. But she had arrived at her destination.

She pulled in beside the Incredible household, parking her cycle next to their picket fence and walking to the front step. She was nervous, but not so terrified, not so horrified, as she had been last time she knocked on this door. She gave two sharp raps with her left hand. In her right hand, she clutched something very important.

Within moments, the door opened. Helen, dressed in civilian clothes and with deep circles under her eyes, regarded Karen with weary suspicion. She had baby Jack-Jack, sound asleep, balanced on her hip.

“Oh, it’s you.” She didn’t sound too excited.

“Hey,” Karen greeted her with a nervous wave.

“I heard about what happened the other night. Congratulations. Sounds like you prevented a lot of deaths with your quick action.”

Karen tried to detect whether there was sarcasm in Elastigirl’s words. She didn’t hear any. “Thanks. We did our best.”

“And that’s all you _can_ do. Now, what do you need?”

Karen could hardly fault Elastigirl for looking so wary and unfriendly. Not too long ago, Karen had torn the Incredibles’ lives apart.

“I know I’m, uh, probably not the first face you wanted to see at your door. I know last time I was here, things didn’t go too great.”

“Oh, ya think so?” Elastigirl put a hand on her hip.  

“But this time, I think you’ll be glad to see me.” Karen lifted the object in her left hand. A large, square black tape. “You’ve got to look at this, trust me.”

Helen stared at her for a further moment before finally saying, “Come on in, then.”

Karen followed Elastigirl into her home, passing a coat rack, a bookshelf, a closet, and many toys strewn about the floor. They finally reached a living room, where Mr. Incredible sat on the couch, wearing a white shirt and black pants, and staring blankly at the TV with a remote clutched in his hand, watching some sports program. He looked depressed. That was to be expected, and Karen’s heart ached for him, but she knew that within a few minutes, everything would be fine.

“Bob. We’ve got company,” said Elastigirl flatly as she stopped beside the couch. Bob blinked and turned, seeing Karen. His expression didn’t change. “Hi, Voyd. What’s going on?”

“No, please—call me Karen.” She laughed awkwardly, pointing at her face. “See? No mask.”

“Okay. Karen. What’s up?” Bob was clearly exhausted, and he’d grown a stubbly beard, but at least he wasn’t being rude to her. She wouldn’t have blamed him if he was.

“Can you guys play tapes on that TV? I need to show you something.”

“Uh, sure. Just give it here.” Bob extended a hand, Karen passed him the tape, and he went over to the television.

“So what’s this about?” Elastigirl asked—more like, firmly demanded—while Bob fiddled with their tape player.

“I did some digging over the past few days,” Karen admitted. “It took a lot of time and a lot of effort, but I didn’t give up. I mean, it probably took me three hours of haggling with the cops just to get them to release the tape.”

Elastigirl bounced her son on her hip as he woke up and began to fuss. “Digging where, exactly?”

“Police files. I wanted to find some footage from sixteen years ago,” she explained quietly.

This was enough to let Elastigirl know exactly what was going on. Her eyebrows met. “Karen, I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“Trust me,” Karen pleaded. “Please.”

Bob had already inserted the tape, and it began to play on the screen. It displayed grainy security camera footage. Nothing special: just an empty parking lot at night, with a glowing supermarket in the distance.

“Karen…” said Elastigirl through gritted teeth, and she heard the warning: _If you hurt my husband any more, I will kill you._

“ _Trust_ me,” she repeated, staring at the screen along with Bob and Helen. Jack-Jack quietly gurgled.

“What is this?” Bob asked, confused.

“Just wait.”

A man and a woman, both young and smiling, entered the frame. They wore light jackets and walked hand-in-hand, laughing together about something. Suddenly, two men approached them, both holding large guns. The man and woman stopped stock-still, frozen in the spot.

A conversation ensued, an exchange, demands of some sort. The woman looked to her right, pleaded to someone who couldn’t be seen. The man did the same. Evidently they didn’t like the response, as their faces crumpled in fear.

Bob watched, his own face frozen, transfixed to the screen.

Even though Voyd had seen this tape before and knew when the shooting would happen, it still made her jump when it did. The man fell onto his back, his body jerking as he was riddled with further bullets. The woman screamed silently—there was no sound from the video—and knelt beside him, shaking him and screaming some more, before she, too, was riddled with bullets by the grinning killers. The gunmen ran away into the night, still laughing.

When all was done, the woman lay still beside her husband, her face an unrecognizable mask of blood and bone. Unmoving, she clutched his hand.

“I didn’t need to see this, Karen,” Bob muttered. “I just… I didn’t.”

Karen herself was emotional, her face wet. She’d full-on sobbed the first time she’d seen the video in a dim back room in the police department, and an officer had offered her some tissues, which she’d promptly soaked in tears. “Just keep watching,” she said, choked up.

The video continued for another minute, the two lovers lying side by side, before several people entered the frame from the right. All held beer cans in their hands, all were laughing and joking, all were male, all were clearly drunk, and all wore superhero costumes.

Bob’s breath caught, and he leaned closer to the TV.

Gamma Jack. Phylange. Hypershock.

They all disappeared off-camera.

He wasn’t with them.

“She was wrong,” Voyd said quietly. “She got shot in the head, Mr. Incredible—she was imagining things. She probably saw you on TV or something and just got it into her head that you were there, but you weren’t. You weren’t around that night at all. You did nothing wrong.”

Bob sat back heavily onto the floor. He was silent for a few long moments—then he began to laugh in relief. “Oh, Christ, that’s—that’s great, Karen. Oh, my god. I thought—well, I thought—those poor people, and I thought—”

He couldn’t speak any more, burying his face in his hands and remaining silent.

Elastigirl brushed past Karen, going to her husband and placing a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry I ever believed it, Bob,” she said quietly. “I shouldn’t have. I _know_ you.”

“It’s okay,” he said, his voice muffled. “ _I_ believed it.”

Karen knew she shouldn’t speak—should just leave the couple alone, fade away from their day—but she had to say something. “The reason it was so disturbing to me,” she said, “is because… I mean, no matter how dark your life got, Mr. Incredible, I never thought you were the kind of super who would ignore a cry for help like that. It went against everything I ever knew about you. I don’t know you that well, but I think you’re a good person. And now I know it for sure.” She hesitated before saying the next words. “I think of you as a friend. And I hope you still think of me as one, too.”

“Well, of course, Karen.” He lifted his face from his hands and smiled at her, and she could see the total relief in his eyes, as though a million-pound weight had been lifted. “Of course you’re our friend. You know, that open dinner invitation still stands. Better make use of it. Helen makes a mean meatloaf.”

Karen awkwardly giggled. She couldn’t imagine actually having _dinner_ with the Incredibles, but maybe it was time to make that step. She had to stop thinking of herself as unworthy.

“I’m glad you didn’t do what we thought you did, Bob. But…” Helen exhaled, shaking her head. “It’s bad enough knowing there are people out there who would ignore someone like that. It’s disturbing enough on its own.”

Not long ago, Karen would have said the same thing. Now, though, she’d had time to think, to reconsider, to sort out her own feelings. She smiled gently. “I’ve come to terms with it. Yeah, there are awful people in the world, even supers, but I can’t control their actions. And even if they’re supers, well, they don’t speak for me, and their actions aren’t my actions. We can’t control other people. What matters is _us_. What matters is what _we_ decide to do, what _we_ decide to make of ourselves, uh, you know, how _we_ decide to represent ourselves. Y’know… as individuals. And as long as I do my best to make sure that I always do the right thing, well…” She shrugged. “I’m not gonna waste time feeling other people’s guilt.”

This was only a half-truth: she really meant, she would _try_ not to feel others’ guilt. It would be a battle, a learning curve. But she would try.

Helen half-smiled, her eyes crinkling at the edges; most of the hardness was gone from her face. “Sounds like you’ve done some growing up, Karen.”

“Yeah.” She shuffled her feet. “I guess I have.”

 

The Incredibles insisted on having Karen over for lunch; Elastigirl made ham sandwiches and leftover salad. They demanded to hear all about the other night’s events, encouraging her victories and trying their best to console her for her losses. She thought she could get used to this—having a couple of older, more experienced supers to lean on, to get advice from. It was pretty darn awesome to be having lunch with Mr. Incredible and Elastigirl, after all. Yeah, she could definitely get used to this.

Before she left, Helen stopped her at the door with a hand on her arm, smiling warmly. “I know I can seem distant—hey, I’ve got three kids, I don’t always have a mountain of time on my hands. But you’re always welcome back here, Karen. You know that right?”

“Yeah, I know that,” she responded gratefully. She hesitated for a long moment, biting her lip; she was almost too embarrassed to ask this question, though she’d had it on her mind all afternoon. “Uh, Elastigirl…?”

“Uh-huh?”

With almost _painful_ awkwardness, Karen asked a favor.

Elastigirl was silent for a minute, weighing her options. The superheroine said, “Well, I’m kind of busy this week. But next Tuesday I’m free…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, we're very nearly at the end. Only two more epilogue chapters to go.
> 
> Thank you very much for reading.


	31. Next Tuesday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Voyd gets flying lessons.

“Oh god oh god oh god oh, we’re going to crash, oh—”

“You’re doing it. Relax.”

“I’m—I am?”

“Yup. I stopped holding the joystick ten seconds ago,” Elastigirl said, amused. “You’re doing it on your own. I told you you could.”

Karen stared in wonder. “I’m doing it? I’m doing it!” She almost let go of the joystick in her glee.

“Easy, girl! Keep ahold of that thing,” Elastigirl cautioned. “I called in a favor to borrow this plane. I’d like to return it in one piece.” She put a comforting hand on Karen’s shoulder. “Keep her steady. Remember to check your gauges: airspeed, altimeter, fuel... all that jazz.”

Karen scanned the glowing dials in front of her nervously, trying to remember what each of them meant, trying to retain all the information Elastigirl had taught her today. “Um… all good.”

Elastigirl chuckled. “You don’t remember what any of them mean, do you?”

“Um… kind of…no,” she nervously admitted.

“That’s okay. I’m here with you. We’ll go over them again when we land. For now, why don’t you take a sec and admire the view?”

Karen did, and she didn’t regret it. They were gliding high above the earth, the sky a clear dome of perfect blue all around them, the clouds forming a smooth white carpet underneath. A small, wonderous smile crept across Karen’s face. No wonder people loved flying. She’d flown before, but she’d never actually gotten the chance to savor it, not like this.

“I’m sure Snug won’t mind loaning me this plane again, not as long as I cough up a few bucks for fuel. If you want, we can go out again on Saturday.” Elastigirl laughed to herself. “Just as much for my sake as for yours, y’know. I forgot how much I loved this. Teaching you is gonna be a blast.”

The initial terror of flying on her own having mostly faded, Karen suddenly became painfully conscious of Elastigirl’s warm hand on her shoulder, the simple touch sending weird pinpricks all through her torso. Oh, jeez. Dangerous territory. She was a married woman. Plus, she was freaking _Elastigirl_. Distract yourself, Karen.

Some things, though, you just can’t help. Karen resigned herself to the pinpricks with an internal shiver as she continued to fly. The pinpricks reminded her of Daisy, who could send a shudder through Karen simply by walking into the room…. Oh, Daisy, Karen had almost forgotten about her. But how could she forget? Daisy was magic, and if there was one thing Karen would always regret about quitting her job, it was the fact that she’d probably never see Daisy—or Rufus, for that matter—again.

Well, she’d already tried flying. Karen resolved to do something _else_ that scared the crap out of her.

You only live once, after all. And if there was one thing Karen had learned from her first official adventure as a superhero… it was that you can’t live your life afraid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second-to-last chapter. Keep reading, you're almost done...


	32. Through the Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Voyd does the scariest thing she's ever done.

That evening, Voyd visited the SJP. She’d given up on her plans to move into the building—after all, since the government was hiring supers full-time, she could afford to maintain her apartment. But still, the SJP was her second home, and it was a very nice second home, too. And it was full of her friends, which made it even better.

The team were sitting around the common room wearing their super suits, laughing and talking. They weren’t laughing or talking as loudly or passionately as usual—the events of the previous week still weighed on their minds, and it would take a while to recover. But they _would_ recover, and everything would be okay. They had each other, and that mattered most.

“The sun’s getting pretty low,” He-Lectrix remarked. “You guys think we should head out? Do a little hero work?”

Voyd noticed the sun _was_ getting low, and a wave of panic surged in her as she realized she’d forgotten to do something she’d been planning all day. “Oh, crap!”

“What is it?” Screech questioned, but she was already on her feet and heading out the door. “Wait for me, guys, I gotta do something first,” she called over her shoulder. “I’ll be back!”

She headed to her apartment on her cycle, going so fast she was practically teleporting, and took off her super suit, donning instead a cute outfit of jeans and a cable-knit blue sweater. She stared at herself in the mirror for probably longer than she should’ve, nervously pinching at this and adjusting that, making sure she looked okay. In the end, she bit her lip and shrugged. It would have to do.

Oh, lord, she was scared out of her mind.

She forced herself outside, where she mounted her cycle again and speeded down the streets, heading to an address she knew well. She’d never actually visited this particular building, but she knew its location because the person who lived there was a big talker, and had often spoken to Karen about the place where she lived, what she liked about it and what she didn’t, her neighbors, her landlord, _everything_ , all details Karen had unthinkingly stored away…

Was that creepy? Karen winced as she realized just how much she remembered from Daisy’s idle conversations. Yeah, it might be a little creepy. Just a tiny bit.

She parked her cycle outside and turned it invisible, looking back and forth to make sure no one was watching before she did so. Then, she headed into the ten-storey apartment building. Daisy lived on the fifth floor, apartment 113. Karen took the elevator up there, because she knew if she took the stairs, she might lose her nerve halfway up. Heck, she might lose her nerve halfway up the elevator, too.

She headed to apartment 113. She raised her fist. Her heart almost imploded. She almost walked away.

But she had faced down villains, bombs, blasts of super energy, evil lairs and emotions so strong they could bring an elephant to its knees. She could do this. Of course she could!

She knocked on the door.

Too soon, it opened. There was Daisy, wearing a paint-splattered smock and black trousers. So she’d been painting. Oh, god, she looked adorable.

She immediately smiled. “Hey, Karen! Oh my gosh, I thought I wouldn’t see you again! I was so sad when I heard you quit. We might even move salons.”

Karen almost said, “Oh, sorry, wrong apartment”—like _that_ would make any sense—and left. But she didn’t. She steeled herself.

“Hey. Um, yeah, I quit. I got a new job opportunity, and it’s been great.”

“Oh, doing what?”

“Um... I can’t exactly tell you. Classified. Sorry.”

Realization dawned on Daisy’s face; she seemed to understand. Karen suddenly remember that since supers had just been announced as government employees—a piece of news which was still a very hot topic—Daisy could easily put two and two together. “Oh… I get it,” Daisy said knowingly. “I didn’t know that you were…”

“It’s classified,” Karen repeated dumbly, offering a weak smile.

“Yeah, I get it. Classified.” Daisy winked. “I’m not one of those people who hates su—well, I won’t say the word, but we both know, huh? Anyway. You can trust me. I’m not gonna be spilling any secrets.”

Karen knew she was redder than a fire engine. “Um, thank you. I appreciate it.”

Daisy brushed an errant strand of hair behind her ear. The cutest gesture in the whole entire universe. “So what did you come here to talk about?”

“Uh…”

Everything that had happened in the past few weeks flashed before Karen’s eyes. Everything she’d experienced, everything she’d faced, the fire she’d walked through and emerged safe on the other side. She could do this. She _would_ do this.

“I just wondered… do you want to go out? With me? Like, on a date?” It all spilled out in a rush. “I mean, we can go wherever you want. I don’t care. Dinner, the movies, walk in the park… wherever. Just, out. With you. What do you say?”

She stared hopefully at Daisy, wringing her hands together.

Daisy blinked, then seemed to deflate a little. “Oh, Karen. Um, I’m really sorry, but… I have a girlfriend.”

Oh.

Okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost called this chapter "Friendzoned," but thought that was a little too tacky. Also gives away the surprise twist ending. Thank you to @thatonegojimun for suggesting this crazy ending. It's definitely the best way I have EVER ended a story.
> 
> You've reached the end of the fic. Thank you so very much for sticking with it, and I hope you enjoyed reading it half as much as I enjoyed writing it. It needs polishing and it could be better, but this fic has become my baby and, in a lifetime of fiction writing, this is the longest thing I’ve ever written. I’m happy I made it to the end!
> 
> Criticism is welcome. I'd love to learn how I could improve, especially since I might just write a sequel (or twelve) to this story. Again, thank you very, very much for reading. Goodbye until we meet again. :) :) :)


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